New World Tomfoolery

Shouldn't that be obvious?

2011-10-19T22:07:00.000-07:00

In what may be the "duh" moment of the year, FINRA published an Investor Alert on July 25, 2011 to help counter the problems arising from the fact that, in their own words:

[I]nvestors may not realize that they could be taking on more risk if they invest in products with higher returns.

Kind of obvious, no? Still, when the herds flock to speculate in the market (rather than invest in it), such an elementary lack of understanding of financial products is bound to occur.

Other gems from the Alert include:

If you do not fully understand how your investments function, you could find yourself surprised by outcomes you didn’t expect, such as illiquidity, exit fees, loss of principal or the return of your investment in a form other than cash.

The promise of higher return is almost always associated with greater risk and an increased possibility of investment losses.

Legitimate investments that promise returns of 30, 50 or even 100 percent per year without any risk to your principal simply do not exist. Always independently verify who you are dealing with and whether the seller of the investment is licensed to do business with you.

Seems to me that the brunt of FINRA's advice is two-fold: (1) don't get greedy (i.e., by participating in Madoff-style get rich quick schemes) and (2) do your homework. After all, the key difference between a speculator and an investor (and no matter what nomenclature the financial press favor, most "investors" today are, in reality, speculators) is the amount of good ol' fashioned research an investor does before tossing their cash to a third party (be it the markets or Uncle Jeff).

So next time you're looking to invest, grab a calculator (or abacus) and all the info you can get your hands on and get to work.

A Sabbath day thought

2011-05-22T05:14:00.000-07:00

"Never let a problem to be solved become more important than a person to be loved." - President Thomas S. Monson

"The Power of Personal Testimony in Strengthening the Family"

2011-05-14T23:18:00.000-07:00

Last night during the Saturday evening session of our semi-annual district conference*, my lovely wife Michelle delivered a remarkable sermon on the power of a personal testimony to strengthen a family. Indeed, it was too good not to share ... so here it is:

Mary McQuarrie was born in August 1846 near Glasgow, Scotland. At the age of 11, her family left for the American west to join her brother who earlier converted and moved to the Salt Lake Valley. Mary, her parents and other siblings were baptized after their arrival in the states. At the age of 15 she became the third wife to Edward Bunker, a man 24 years her senior.

It is said Mary was “never was to regret this marriage. She ... came to know by experience that if this law were lived as God intended ... it would reﬁne and purify the soul as nothing else would,” (Online Biography).

Mary understood the hardships of pioneer life as she moved with her husband and family to St. George and Santa Clara, Utah before settling Bunkerville, Nevada. Later, Edward moved to Mexico with his ﬁrst wife, where he suddenly passed away. Mary spent her ﬁnal years battling a crippling illness while raising her 8 children alone in the desert.

Yet, her granddaughter explained, “[Grandma] was never known to complain of her suffering. Her faith and trust in her Heavenly Father was sublime. She gave to her posterity a powerful testimony of the truth of the Gospel, and an example of righteous living that should stimulate her grandchildren and great-grandchildren to increased devotion for righteous living ... Her children found in her ... a faith in God indomitable and unimpaired, though she had been sore-pressed and tried ... One could not know this little woman, so humble and sweet, without knowing that when she approached---God listened,” (Online Biography).

In October 2006 General Conference, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf similarly spoke of the power a personal testimony may have. He said, “Our ﬁrm personal testimony will motivate us to change ourselves and then bless the world,” (Ensign, November 2006).

As with Mary McQuarrie, this principle is illustrated time and time again in the scriptures. We read and study of individuals who desire and seek testimony through continued prayer, faith and obedience. And by so doing are able, like Mary, to call upon God’s attention and the powers of heaven to change their lives, the lives of their families and the lives of others. Today I’d like to highlight three such examples - Enos, Martha and Alma and his son Alma.

ENOS

Enos begins his record explaining the “wrestle which [he] had before God,” (Enos 1:2) to receive a remission of his sins and gain a personal testimony. With a sincere desire and hunger to know for himself, he earnestly prayed until he received forgiveness and a witness of the power of God. He shared this testimony with his family and community, as his son Jarom explained that he “did labor diligently, exhorting with all long-suffering ... continually stirring them up unto repentance,” (Jarom 1:11, 12).

Enos also used his testimony and faith to call upon the powers of heaven when he asked the Lord to preserve the Nephite records. He says, “Wherefore, I knowing that the Lord God was able to preserve our records, I cried unto him continually, for he had said unto me: Whatsovever thing ye shall ask in faith, believing that ye shall receive in the name of Christ, ye shall receive it. And I had faith, and I did cry unto God that he would preserve the records; and he covenanted with me that he would bring them forth...in his own due time,” (Enos 1: 15-16).

Enos is a great example of a powerful testimony that motivated change in himself and subsequently blessed his family and countless generations to this day. Because of Enos’s testimony in the Savior and His ability to bless us with the righteous desires of our hearts, he helped preserve the Nephite records, an important part of the Book of Mormon we hold so sacred today.

MARTHA

Martha, her sister Mary, and their brother Lazarus were close with the Savior while he was on the earth. It is said that “Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus,” (John 11: 5).

When Lazarus became ill, Martha and Mary sent for the Savior. By the time Jesus arrived, Lazarus had been dead four days. Martha went to greet the Savior and said unto him, “Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. But I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee,” (John 11:21-22).

Jesus responded saying, “I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live ... Believest thou this? She saith unto him, Yea, Lord: I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world. [And then] he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus come forth,” (John 11: 25, 26, 27, 43).

In a recent conference address, Elder Gregory A. Schwitzer explained this story “gives us a deeper view of [Martha’s] understanding and testimony,” (Ensign, May 2010). He continued, “[Martha’s] testimony in the trial of her brother’s death clearly shows the depth of her understanding and faith ... By knowing more about Martha, we ﬁnd she was actually a person of deep spiritual character who had a bold and daring testimony of the Savior’s mission and His divine power over life.” Indeed, we learn through this story that Martha’s testimony not only positively inﬂuenced her own life, but also strengthened her family as Christ restored Lazarus to life.

ALMA & ALMA

Alma, after hearing the testimony and teachings of the prophet Abinadi, repented and began to teach the things he learned. He encouraged others to “walk uprightly before God, imparting to one another both temporally and spiritually according to their needs ...” (Mosiah 18:29). When his son became “a great hinderment to the prosperity of the church,” (Mosiah 27:9), Alma prayed so fervently that an angel appeared that he might “be brought to the knowledge of the truth,” (Mosiah 27:14).

Afterward, Alma the younger explained that during this experience “[he] remembered ... to have heard [his] father prophesy ... concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ,” (Alma 36: 17). It was his father’s testimony that led Alma the younger to seek forgiveness from and a testimony of the Savior.

This testimony he passed on to his children as well. Before leaving for the last time, Alma asked his son Helaman, “Believest thou the words which I spake unto thee...? And Helaman said unto him: Yea, I believe. And Alma said again: Believest thou in Jesus Christ, who shall come? And he said: Yea, I believe all the words which thou has spoken,” (Mosiah 45:44).

As we see in both Alma’s lives, developing a pattern of testimony bearing and teaching within the family can have a profound effect. Elder David A. Bednar explained “feeling the power, the ediﬁcation, and the constancy of testimony from a spouse, a parent, or a child is a rich blessing. Such testimony fortiﬁes faith and provides direction,” (Ensign, November 2009).

In October 1994 General Conference, Elder Robert D. Hales suggested seven ways in which we may gain and maintain a strong testimony. They include continuing in prayer, searching the scriptures, pondering gospel principles, being humble and receptive, living our testimony through obedience, sharing our testimony, and lastly enduring trials of circumstance and persecution, (Ensign, November 1994 or New Era, August 2002). Once again, our previous mentioned examples illustrate each of these principles. Enos pondered gospel principles, even the words “ ... which [he] had often heard [his] father speak concerning eternal life,” (Enos 1:3). He then prayed and continued to pray “all the day long ... yea, and when the night came [he] still did raise [his] voice high that it reached the heavens,” (Enos 1:5). Later, we learn that Enos continued to “pour out [his] whole soul unto God,” (Enos 1:9) and that he “prayed ... with many long strugglings,” (Enos 1:10). Similarly, Alma the elder “prayed with much faith,” (Mosiah 27: 14), and “did pour [his heart]” unto the Lord (Mosiah 24:12).

Martha was humble and receptive to the Lord’s admonition to “choose the better part,” (Luke 10: 41-42) which resulted in a faith and testimony of Christ so powerful as to raise her brother from the dead.

Alma the younger was known to “study the scriptures diligently, that [he] might know the word of God,” (Alma 17: 2), and freely shared his testimony with others as he found that “the word had a great tendency to lead the people [and] ... had [a] more powerful effect upon the minds of the people than ... anything else,” (Alma 31:5).

Mary McQuarrie lived her testimony through cheerful obedience and remained devoted despite years of physical and spiritual trials.

Elder Hales taught, “Individual testimonies are the foundation and strength of the Church. Our testimony provides a guiding light that leads to a commitment which directs our conduct and our way of life ... Having a strong testimony allows us to help others in their search for truth,” (New Era, August 2002).

I know there is great power in personal testimony. I know because although we have not met in this life, the testimony and example of those in the scriptures as well as my great-great grandmother, Mary McQuarrie has sustained and encouraged me through varied life experiences.

I know that as we engage in the activities Elder Hales recommends, we will increase our testimony of and faith in the Savior. We will gain the kind of testimony that will motivate change in ourselves and bless the lives of our families and others. I know that as we desire and seek these things, that it may also be said of the power of our testimonies that when we approached, God listened. Of this I testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

* Note: Elder Perkins, the Asia Area president, told us last night that the Saturday evening session of stake/district conference is invariably (1) the least attended and (2) most uplifting meeting of any stake/district conference. Because of that, he feels that the Lord will likely pick that meeting to announce His second coming (allowing active church members to self select into the wise or foolish virgin camp ;)

"You are not a billiard ball"

2010-12-02T19:51:00.001-08:00

I first came across the delightful work "Eternal Man" (by Truman G. Madsen) on my mission. Unfortunately, in the intervening seven years (really ... seven?!), I've had little opportunity to revisit this excellent volume.

Until now.

Thanks to the ever-so-convenient Kindle, I recently rediscovered the magic of this booklet, which is chock full of delightful lessons and thought-provoking commentary.

Take, for instance, the following excerpt:

Freedom was not created. You are, and always will be, independent in that stage of development to which your voluntary decisions and divine powers have led. There are limits all along the way to what you can be and do. But you are not a billiard ball. No power in the universe can coerce your complete assent or dissent.

And another (just for good measure):
There is no creation 'from nothing.' There is ordering of elements: movement from simple to complex; growth from one degree to a greater degree, and from part to whole.

You are not just a product; you are an originator. In space you are coexistent with God. In time, you are coeternal with God.

Essentially, this little publication takes the Prophet Joseph Smith's teachings on premortal existence and applies them to (and uses them to answer) numerous problems posed by religion and philosophy over the last few thousand years.

For anyone interested in a better understanding of what it means to be an eternal being, I couldn't recommend the book enough. After all, where else would you find a host of well-reasoned arguments allowing you to stand up, face this crazy world and yell, "I am NOT a billiard ball!"?

Fortune Tellers ...

2010-08-02T12:50:00.000-07:00

Back at USU, my roommates and I decided to invite some other Bridgerlanders over to make fortune cookies (or it may have been that the other Bridgerlanders and I invited my roommates to join us ... not certain).

In preparation for that lovely event, my roommate (Benjamin Franklin Cummings, a.k.a. Ben of the Silly Laugh) and I set about creating some fun and genre-bending fortunes to stuff inside those delectable shells. As I was giving my inbox a much needed cleaning out, I stumbled across a few of these little gems and, in the interest of nostalgia and humanity, present them here for your viewing pleasure:

(1) On the side of the road, you will find a gift for your brother
(2) A new shirt will attract a stray flock of doves
(3) Beware the Ides of March ... or Brutus ... or both
(4) Neo-Nazi propagandists will give you legal trouble
(5) Swimming fully clothed will save your dog’s life
(6) Sneezing in class will incur the wrath of your professor
(7) You will be assigned to a new partner from a foreign land
(8) A long-forgotten math test will give you an ulcer (literally)
(9) Painting the walls blue will bring good fortune to you
(10) You will find love on the short bus
(11) A dead butterfly in Lichenstein will influence your stock options
(12) Your second class on Tuesday will bring a smiling face from a kind heart
(13) Under the light of the full moon, you will cross your future nemesis
(14) You will enjoy an exotic camel ride through Arizona
(15) A run-in with pagan idols will leave you naked
(16) A break down on the road less traveled will lead to fortune on the highway to hell
(17) Capturing snowflakes on the end of a pencil will guarantee grad school entrance
(18) You will find success working nights at McDonald's
(19) A completed Bachelors degree will give you nothing but trouble
(20) Seeking to become a True Aggie* will bring disastrous results

As you can tell from these tongue-in-cheek send ups, Ben and I saw fortune cookies (and astrology and ... etc.) was all a bunch of flim flam ... but at least we could turn it into some fairly funny flim flam ;)

* NOTE: Look here for a discussion on the hallowed tradition of becoming a True Aggie.

Those Wacky, Star-Crossed Lovers ...

2010-05-14T15:04:00.000-07:00

In scene 2 of Romeo and Juliet, Romeo - that impetuous boy and star-crossed lover - introduces himself to Juliet by saying

'Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops ...'

At that point, however, he is cut off in his love diatribe by a much more mature, much wiser Juliet when she says:

'O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.'

Romeo, probably a little disconcerted that his one true love has doused the flame of his poetic praise, nevertheless listens to her wise counsel and asks,

'What shall I swear by?'

To this, Juliet calmly responds:

'Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self . . . And I'll believe thee.'

After thinking about Juliet's musings this morning, I realized that in many ways, she is simply saying that a love that is true love does not need any vain affirmations. When we feel an incredible depth of feeling for another human being, one which may be described in the Greek as Agape - the love that brings forth caring regardless of circumstance, we do not need to make any protestations through words or swear by any fickle and failing objects (celestial orb or otherwise) ... instead, we simply must let the love we feel grow and expand through whatever storm may come and through whatever obstacle we may encounter. Regardless of the circumstance, that kind of love will remain.

Not bad for a teenager destined to kill herself in the most unnecessarily tragic of Shakespearean suicides.

The innocence of youth ...

2010-03-29T09:23:00.000-07:00

Just read an interesting piece on a thesis written by recent Harvard grad, A.K. Barnett-Hart.

Though I enjoyed the article, one of the most interesting parts for me was the cynicism exhibited in the last five words of the piece (to give the proper context, I preface these words with the paragraph preceding them):

“After writing my thesis, it became clear to me that the culture at these investment banks needed to change and that incentives needed to be realigned to reward more than just short-term profit seeking,” [Barnett-Hart] wrote in an email. “And how would Wall Street ever change, I thought, if the people that work there do not change? What these banks needed is for outsiders to come in with a fresh perspective, question the way business was done, and bring a new appreciation for the true purpose of an investment bank - providing necessary financial services, not creating unnecessary products to bolster their own profits.”

Ah, the innocence of youth.

This ideal-crushing, five-word jab represents one of the fundamental roadblocks preventing any real, productive change on Wall Street: Disbelief.

The world's financial players (and those who write about their exploits) frequently exhibit disbelief that anything can change ... and, what's worse, sometimes they exhibit disbelief that anything should change.

For instance, look at how quickly the financial institutions have returned to "business as usual" in the wake of the financial crisis. These "movers and shakers" of markets and economies seem to have no problem pushing the world to the brink of chaos and then, after complete disaster is averted, start the merry-go-round over again.

The fact is, Barnett-Hart slammed her hammer down in exactly the right spot: The culture of the Street needs to change. The devil-may-care, recklessness must be removed (and possibly penalized) and a new culture of personal, moral, and ethical accountability must take its place.

An important question, of course, is how that change should be accomplished. Should we simply rely on Big Brother to come in with its newly-minted regulations? Or, should we seek to help the players develop stronger self-regulation skills? In a prior post, I wrote that

[T]he effectiveness of a free market model depends not on an unbreakable tome of rules and regulations ... but instead on a system of internal ethical and moral controls that must be imbued into the very nature of the people who work within the market.

Thus, I tend to stand in the latter of those two camps. Perhaps, though, a third possibility exists ... replacing the current players with newbies looking to "provid[e] necessary financial services" rather than create "unnecessary products to bolster their own profits."

But whether we believe in change through an external regulatory clamp-down (the easy fix), an internal ethical overhaul (the more difficult, more lasting fix), or some combination of the two, we should believe in change (both it's need and it's possibilty).

And we should applaud those who earnestly seek it.

Indeed, what right do we have to denigrate or mock someone who, seeing the moral mess on Wall Street, wants to bring the Street "a fresh perspective" and "a new appreciation for the true purpose of an investment bank"?

Answer: None.

So I say, go get 'em A.K.

Let's get to work ...

2010-03-29T07:22:00.000-07:00

Listening to "Conversations" this morning, I heard Elder Bednar share an experience from Sept. 11, 2001.

After the horrific events of that morning, Elder Bednar was set to meet with President Hinckley and other presiding leaders of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that evening. He mentioned how eagerly he anticipated what the brethren would say about those events. At the meeting, President Hinckley said, quite simply:

We live in very troubled times. Now, let's get to work.

We do live in difficult, sometimes scary times; we are embroiled in the events of the last days ... the days when men's hearts shall fail them. We are surrounded by a state of constant change and turmoil. Truly, all things are in commotion.

But, we must continue on in the service of God. The work of the Lord is rarely easy or convenient, but, with faith in ourselves, faith in God, and faith in the future, we can (and will) have the strength to roll up our sleeves and get to work.

I believe that the answer to fear and uncertainty is to go to work. God's Plan will not be frustrated and He will continue to work for the eternal benefit of His children even as the world drops further into complexity and (eventually) chaos.

As we work in the cause of the Lord, He will help us be prepared for all that comes and will give us the courage to face the future without fear.

Life without Youtube ...

2010-03-25T11:49:00.000-07:00

On March 25, 2010, Youtube suffered a minor (and temporary) outage.

The world trembled.

"YouTube is up again following a technical issue which has now been resolved," a spokeswoman for Google said in a written statement. "We know how important YouTube is for people and apologize for any inconvenience the downtime may have caused."

But do you really know how important YouTube is, Google? DO YOU!?

From talking cats to chubby dancers (dancing chubbily), YouTube connects us to all that is real and good and holy in life. To be deprived of its radiance - even temporarily - is almost more than we mortals can bear.

According to Google (that demigod of search engines), the outage was not caused by outside tampering. And, while it's good to know the Russians haven't hacked our system to the point of being able to interfere with our most basic, shared need, we can't help but feel a significant sense of loss for the time YouTube was down.

After all, you can never get that back.

But, somehow, we pulled through; somehow, we filled the gaping temporal void left by YouTube's catastrophic absence; somehow, we moved on.

Just don't let it happen again, Google.

Chuckle-worthy review ...

2010-03-18T07:06:00.000-07:00

Couldn't stop laughing when I read this EW movie review for Remember Me, starring none other than America's favorite vampire, Robert Pattinson:

As a shameless contraption of ridiculously sad things befalling attractive people, the engorged romantic tragedy Remember Me stands tall between those towering monuments to teen-oriented cinematic misery: Love Story and Twilight . . . the movie is one part "Love means never having to say you're sorry" and one part Edward's warning to Bella: "If you're smart, you'll stay away from me." ... [It is] a movie with all the hyperventilating hysteria of a 1960s teen-tragedy pop song and all the disposability, too.

Rotten Tomato Critical Score: 26% (a.k.a., certifiably ROTTEN).

On a Golden Springtime

2010-03-09T07:12:00.000-08:00

In the springtime, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, a ding a ding a ding,
Sweet lovers love the Spring.
- William Shakespeare

My friends, today I have but one purpose in this little post ... and that is to wish you all my love on this most beautiful of Spring-ish days! There is sunshine in my soul and happiness in my heart and I hope that the whole world can rise up with me in song and praise of Him who grants us this yearly renewal!

On a golden springtime, underneath the ground, a tiny seedling lay asleep until the sun shone down. Awake, awake, O little seed! Push upward to the light! The day is bright, with all your might, push upward to the light!

On a golden springtime, Jesus Christ awoke and left the tomb where he had lain; the bands of death he broke. Awake, awake, O sleeping world! Look upward to the light. For now all men may live again. Look upward to the light!

On a golden springtime, in a forest glade, the Father and the Son appeared as Joseph knelt and prayed. Awake, awake, O nations all! Receive the gospel light! The gospel true is here for you. Receive its glorious light!

Creation and the World of "Jack the Dripper" ...

2010-02-23T05:31:00.000-08:00

Abstract expressionist painter (and all-around splatter genius) Jackson Pollock is often credited with inventing the technique of working spontaneously with liquid paint (a.k.a. "action painting").

But last Friday night, I think my friend Michelle and I perfected it.

After a little bit of furniture shifting and a trip to Home Depot to buy some supplies, I taped plastic drop cloths on the walls and floor to create a temporary, non-"apartment deposit destroying" Art Studio (the plastic definitely kept the painting project from morphing into a Spring Cleaning project).

Here is the room pre-action:

Because "splatter painting" is supposed to release the inner self (that is, the supremely creative child-like self from many decades ago), I tried to stock the table with some unconventional (and fun) tools of the trade. In addition to paint and brushes, we also had scissors, balloons, a toothbrush, spoons, a funnel, a spray bottle, tape, and airsoft guns.

In Round 1, we started with a variation of a "splatter paint" idea I saw in "The Princess Diaries." After using the funnel to put paint in the balloons and taping those balloons to a canvas* on the wall, we shot at the balloons with my friend's Airsoft gun ... Best. Artistic tool. Ever.

This artistic "Biathlon," which created a vibrant and unique splatter scheme, was, to put it in one phrase, totally wicked! And it left lots of little pools of paint littering the floor like a multi-colored mine field. Having inadvertently created such a perfect art palette, in Round 2, we did what came naturally ... we dropped a new canvas on the ground and started making "Foot Art."

Here is the finished product:

After the first two rounds, we (and the art studio) were knee deep in the the Art of Entropy.

To kick off Round 3, we dropped another canvas on the ground and tried a bit of drip painting (inspired by old Jack). A rousing round of joyous spontaneity! Fun twist, though, after we finished dripping, Michelle grabbed the spray bottle and sprayed part of the canvas causing the colors to blend together in an even more interesting panorama.

Finally, in Round 4 we decided to limit our color scheme to blue and red and created a mirror image painting by splattering one half of the canvas and then folding it over. We ended up with a sort of artistic commentary on political (Democrats v. Republicans) and scholastic (BYU v. U. of U.) rivalry:

After all was said and done, we taped the four pieces to the wall so they could dry ... **

... and paused for a moment to appreciate the art (pondering? planning future projects? posing for a picture?):

During the night, as we got messy, made mistakes, and had an altogether brilliant time, I wondered why I had done so little visual art over the past few years. Now, it's true that law school doesn't lend itself to Art Jammin' nearly often enough ... but I realized (after some thought and a bit of conversation) that I actually began to let go of art back in eighth grade when it dawned on me that my very limited, "traditional" artistic talent was likely to pull down my GPA (pretty sure my lowest grade ever was in art class that year).

Now, that's not to say I don't like to get creative ... even law school lends itself to interesting & innovative outlets (just look at the "Death Concert" some of my friends put on). I think, though, that I hadn't done much visual art because I let that negative, eighth-grade response from my art teacher get me down.

Fortunately, though, on Friday, I rediscovered the joy of artistic creation. And what profound joy that is. As Pres. Uchtdorf told the sisters in a recent General Relief Society Meeting:

The desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul. No matter our talents, education, backgrounds, or abilities, we each have an inherent wish to create something that did not exist before.

Everyone can create. You don’t need money, position, or influence in order to create something of substance or beauty.

... You might say, “I’m not the creative type." ... If that is how you feel, think again, and remember that you are spirit daughters [and sons] of the most creative Being in the universe. Isn’t it remarkable to think that your very spirits are fashioned by an endlessly creative and eternally compassionate God? Think about it—your spirit body is a masterpiece, created with a beauty, function, and capacity beyond imagination.

... What you create doesn’t have to be perfect. ... Don’t let the voice of critics paralyze you—whether that voice comes from the outside or the inside. ... The more you trust and rely upon the Spirit, the greater your capacity to create. That is your opportunity in this life and your destiny in the life to come.***

I for one am definitely going to let that inner me - that creative me - out far more often. Not just in painting or in writing (though I'm planning to do more of both), but also in the ways I interact with people; in the way I approach my calling; in everything I do. And hopefully, with a little practice, I'll begin to become more like my "endlessly creative" Father in Heaven.

* NOTE 1: The "canvas" was actually a bed sheet cut in four pieces ...

** NOTE 2: One of the best part's about Friday's art extravaganza is that the floor itself became a piece of art, combining the best of all four sessions and providing a rare glimpse at the artistic process ...

** NOTE 3: For a really inspiring Mormon Message based on this talk, click here.

Yeah, I could use some of that ...

2010-02-22T13:45:00.000-08:00

Two of my very close friends, Shandy and Rachel, recently went on a Carribean cruise; my brother Mike and his wife, Dede, did the same.

Now, it might be the fact that I've been buried in Delaware snow for the last three weeks and, consequently, would happily trade my in my little brother for three days at the beach (sorry Tim ;), but after looking at all those absolutely fantastic photos (see below for samples imported from Dede's blog), I have decided that I will positively, definitely, absolutely, 100% for certain, surely go on a cruise sometime in the next two years.

Guaranteed.

Sunset from the boat.

The cleaning people actually make towel animals for your enjoyment! Every day!

Tulum ruins ... those Mayans sure did build 'em to last.

Mike & Dede before their first formal night (just like Prom ... but on a boat!).

China '06 Part II: "Of Walking Marriage and Novocaine Noodles"

2010-02-15T06:22:00.000-08:00

During my first two-month stint in China, Josh and I traveled to numerous cities: Shanghai, Hangzhou, Nanchang, Anyuan, Lushan, Guilin, Yangshuo, Kunming, Lijiang, Chengdu, Leshan, Xian, Beijing, Dalian, and others.

All were amazing ... all expanded my view and vision of the world ... but my heart will always belong to Chengdu.

And so, largely inspired by that wonderful city, I present Part II: "Of Walking Marriage and Novocaine Noodles" (Originally written June 5, 2006):

Good morning my loved ones and etc.,

As Josh and I were traveling on the sleeper train from Kunming to Chengdu (in the Sichuan Province), we decided to calculate the amount of time we will have spent traveling (via train, plane, automobile and bus) when this trip is said and done - it was an astounding figure. But before I tell you, go ahead and make some guesses. No, really, I'll wait (if you get within three hours, then you should treat yourself to a cookie, or some fried eel).

O.k., here it is ... after we land at SLC on Saturday, June 24, we will have been traveling for a total of 187 hours (not including all the inner city bus, taxi and subway traveling that we do). For those non-math geniuses out there, that's more than an entire week of traveling - 7.79 days to be exact. Fortunately, on each trip, we usually would have been sleeping for 8 hours anyway, so it's not as bad as it sounds. Plus, riding trains is a blast (especially when the other passengers try to teach you their convoluted card games - which are actually very fun).

Speaking of games, Josh and I learned how to play Ma-jiang the other day. It's actually surprisingly fun - kind of like rummy with little tiles instead of cards. At nearly every park in China in the evening, hundreds of little old aunties and uncles get together to play the game (either that or Chinese chess, which is also amazingly fun).

Because I don't have a ton of time today, this week's installment of Chinese culture corner will just be a hodge-podge conglomeration (does anyone know how to spell that correctly?) of a few interesting observations I've had and stories I've heard over the past week or so. Don't expect rhyme or reason, but their might be method to my madness.

Here in Sichuan, there is a minority people called the Mosuo. They live near a lake about eight hours north of Chengdu. The people have a custom which they call "Walking Marriage," which resembles actual marriage the same way a dung beetle resembles a dove. Basically, men or women will go to different houses, sleep with the person in that house and leave the next morning hoping that the female half of their equation is pregnant. No one gets married, and during their lifetime, each person will have sexual relations with dozens of different people. Basically, it's a system for creating bastard children and eliminating the family unit - hmmmm, seems questionable to me.*

Sichuan is known throughout China for their spicy foods. They have a special powder here which they add to their food that acts like novocaine, numbing the lips and mouth. It's not anything near as bad as going to the dentist (which I hear is what happens to people in the seventh circle of Chinese hell), and the slight numbing sensation actually feels kind of cool. The food here has been spectacular and, I must hasten to add, cheap.

Speaking of cheap is really synonymous with speaking of China. The country thrives on illegal books and DVD's that are sold in legitimate stores and malls in every city (the other thing common to all cities is a statue of Mao Zedong, the former head tyrant of China). The fake books and DVD's seem so much like the real ones, that it's nearly impossible to know which are which without seeing the price. Copyright infringment is rampant and the government does almost nothing to stop it - bad news for artists, good news for poor college students.

The family unit in China is very different than in the states. Despite the one child rule, once you get out of the major cities, most families actually have two or more children (especially in the rural areas). Extended family members in China are almost as close to each other as immediate family members are in the states. Children revere their parents and are expected to do everything they can to take care of them when they get older. Instead of old folk homes, grandparents will come and live with one of their children and continue to maintain an active lifestyle, going out into the shops and using some of the extremely strange exercise equipment they have in every park in China (the equipment seems like the result of a couple Chinese engineers looking at pictures of American exercise equipment, and then making something that looked similar but that had no functional value. I love these parks).

Well, my time is nearly up and Josh and I want to go check out a few places before meeting up with some expats we met at church the other day (they're taking us out for Sichuan hot pot, which is supposed to be liquid fire). I hope you are all having a great summer. Drop me a line if you get a moment and let me know what's going on in your life (or lack thereof).

Lots of love from the giant American panda,

Matt

P.S. If all ya'll have any questions about this place, let me know and I'll either find the answer, or make something up.

* NOTE: As with most things in life, the idea of a "walking marriage" is far less black and white than my 24-year-old-self realized. I cannot be the one to judge a people so unique as the Mosuo ... nor should I.

China '06 Part I: "The Pros and Cons of Eating Horse ... "

2010-01-29T06:26:00.000-08:00

Last night I had a short, but lovely conversation with my good friend Amy Cluff. During the conversation, she reminded me of a series of e-mails I wrote to some of my friends and family about three and a half years ago during my first visit to China (along with my former roommate and mission companion Josh Law).

As Josh and I traveled from Shanghai to Nanchang, Guilin, Kunming, Chengdu, Xian, Beijing, and Dalian, I would send little tidbits of our adventures back home about once a week (mostly so my mother would know I hadn't been killed ... or forced into involuntary servitude in Tibet).

I thought I had lost these stories forever, though, when the e-mail account I used while traveling through China was shutdown shortly after I returned home and started law school (thanks USU ... whatever happened to "Aggies all the way," eh?).

Amy brightened my entire night, though, when she informed me that - wonder of wonders - she still had a few of the e-mails in her account and that she would pass them along.

In honor of that discovery, I'm posting them here for your viewing pleasure (and to make sure that I don't loose them again ... because I'm convinced that nothing short of a worldwide apocalyptic meltdown will ever put a dent in the eternal vitality of the blogosphere).

As you read them, though, keep in mind that these are just a few of my impressions of China at the time. In a land as dynamic, multifaceted, and fantastic as China, things are bound to be different from year to year, city to city, and person to person.

With that, I introduce Part I: "The Pros and Cons of Eating Horse" (Originally written May 26, 2006):

Greetings to all my loved ones and etc. (if you happen to fit in the latter category and would rather not receive these amazing, weekly e-mails, feel free to send me either a scathing rebuke or cookies with a note explaining why you no longer are an "etc."),

Again I greet you from the land of a thousand different ways to prepare rice. Right now, I'm at a pretty chill hostel in Guilin listening to the sweet sounds of Messr. Jack Johnson - the king of acoustic bliss - and healing after a day of mountain biking in Yangshuo (about an hour away). If ya'll ever come here (and how could you resist after reading all these pro-China infomercials I keep sending), skip Guilin and go to Yangshuo. The mountains there are inconceivably amazing. Pictures, even the thousand word variety, don't do a bit of justice. The whole place feels like a Dr. Seuss book, or a Salvador Dali painting. China would be worth it just for Yangshuo on a clear night in June (or May, as the case may be).

Josh is doing well and we're pumped, jazzed and ready to go to a small group Church meeting tomorrow. This is the first branch that we've been able to attend since coming to the land of the little ones, and I'm beyond excited. But before I lose ya'll with the mundane details of my glorious vacation, I should move on to this week's installment of Chinese Culture Corner. The topic: food, glorious food.

China has about four thousand years of food history, give or take a millennium. During that time, they've developed their food system internally with very little help from other countries/cultures. Real Chinese food is an entirely different world than that nap-scat excuse for egg rolls that we have back in the states.

They eat everything here. No, really ... everything. In the last three weeks alone, I've eaten pig feet, chicken feet, cow tongue and stomach, goose, pigeon, eel, every variety of weed imaginable, dog and horse. We've been in restaurants that sell monkey, cat, rat, bat and __________ (use your imagination). The funny thing though, is that they make it all taste really good, with a few notable exceptions.

Exception 1: Chou Dou fu - basically a type of deep fried, fermented bean curd, the smell from one of the shops selling these beauties is probably the chief punishment of the fifth level of hell (Dante's version). I really don't think anybody eats the stuff. They just keep it around so the foreigners will have something to write home about.*

Exception 2: Bitter Melon - the name says it all. Why, oh why, do they eat this paltry excuse for a plant? After eating them, I'm convinced that bitter is the only taste that won't rise with us in the resurrection.

Exception 3: Liver - it was bad in the states and, owing to the great variety of animals it can come from, it's even worse here.

Other than these beauties (and boiled eggs, which are absolutely revolting no matter what anyone says), the food has been stupendous to a fault.

One of the great customs they have over here is toasting the good health, long life, good education, etc., of nearly everyone at the table. At random points throughout the meal, someone will stand up, call out another person's name and say something like, "I bless you to have fish all throughout the year," or "I bless you to have good health and keep progressing." Then the other persons will say something back to them (often in the form of a self-deprecating joke) and they drink. Because most everyone drinks alcohol at these kind of dinners, you can guess that they have a lot of toasting ... All night long.

At most Chinese restaurants, people sit at a round table with a lazy-Suzanne in the middle. The food all goes in the middle and each dish is spun around from person to person, again and again, and everyone eats what they want straight out of the dish with their chopsticks. For the most part, they order way more food than they could possibly eat, and everyone eats until they're eyes bulge out for lack of internal space.

And since I can hear some of you asking the question, yes, I'm losing weight here. Really.

Owing to the fact that my time on the internet ends in six minutes, I'm gonna rap this up with one last praise of Chinese food - it's so friggin' cheap. A dollar or less a meal and you're stuffed to the rafters.

Well, that does it for this week. For the time being, live long, prosper, grow a beard or whatever floats your boat.

Lots of love,

Matt "Footloose and Fancy Free" Wright

P.S. If you eat dog meat and cat meat at the same time, are you gonna have an internal brawl in your belly? Now that's food for thought.

* NOTE: I didn't actually eat Chou Dou Fu until July 2009. Up to that point, I never had the guts to give it a go. Now, having experienced it first hand, I can personally witness that it is among the MOST DISGUSTING FOODS EVER INVENTED (this includes Balut and Caterpillar Fungus).

Quotable Quotes: The New Yorker (01-18-10)

2010-01-28T09:27:00.000-08:00

Olson's team will argue that marriage is a malleable institution, shaped by shifting notions of gender, race, and property, while sexual orientation is innate. And the defendants will likely argue that marriage is immutable, and sexual orientation is a performative act, a chosen identity.

"You gotta help me stop looking up stuff I don't actually care about."

Children (and cool grownups) of the eighties remember a brightly lit room with fifties wallpaper, whose inhabitants included a talking chair (Chairry), a talking clock (Clocky), a talking globe who sounded like Henry Kissinger (Globey), a window with goodly eyes (Mr. Window), a blue genie head in a bejeweled box (Jambi), a cow in a tiara (the Cowntess), and a robot (Conky) who dispensed a daily "secret word," which, when it was spoken, would make all of the above scream real loud.

It was at this point that I decided to kill him. After all, would the world really mist this fatuous little suppository, with his preening self-confidence and emetic cuteness?

Our ability to take any pleasure, or even interest, in shows like this - in which participants are depicted as energetic but essentially aimless, oblivious of their own deficits, and delusional about their attractiveness and their importance in the world - hinges not on our ability to identify with them but on our ability to distinguish ourselves from them. Unless the show manages to make us feel as though we were anthropologists secretly observing a new tribe through a break in the trees, it hasn't done its job.

"In an effort to be more transparent, I've grown back my evil goatee."

"A question that so evenly but intensely divides the country is not one that should be decided by the courts nationwide," Eskridge said. "It's the mirror image of the mistake the Bush Administration made by trying to introduce a constitutional amendment to define marriage as between a man and a woman."

[H]e's not just a social grub but a raving paranoid, endlessly mouthing something about attempted homicide by a Hereford.

We seem to have been cursed with a new kind of film: the brown-and-white movie. What's so appealing to filmmakers about these post-apocalyptic tales, anyway? In the past decade or so, the world has been meteored, quaked, lavaed, nuked, melted, frozen, Godzilled, and repeatedly turned into New Jersey or New Mexico.

Iraq is clearly not an easy place to write a novel these days.

They're a few minutes' walk from the ocean, yet we've never seen them go swimming - they just slop around in their rooftop Jacuzzi, whose presence is so central to the men's seduction ritual that it's practically a character in the show.

Of Snickets and Snapdragons ...

2010-01-26T07:44:00.000-08:00

I love Lemony Snicket.

Serious, unadulterated love.

Last night I picked up Book 10 in a Series of Unfortunate Events ("The Slippery Slope") and read through some of the pages, rediscovering the joy of that wry and witty wordsmith. In honor of that rediscovery, I provide some of the prettiest passages and choicest clauses from the Series (the books are chock full of this kind of magic):

Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like.

Having an aura of menace is like having a pet weasel, because you rarely meet someone who has one, and when you do it makes you want to hide under the coffee table.

Books about law are notorious for being very long, very dull, and very difficult to read. This is one reason many lawyers make heaps of money. The money is an incentive - the word 'incentive' here means 'an offered reward to persuade you to do something you don't want to do' - to read long, dull, and difficult books.

We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.

It is very unnerving to be proven wrong, particularly when you are really right and the person who is really wrong is the one who is proving you wrong and proving himself, wrongly, right. Right?

If you are allergic to a thing, it is best not to put that thing in your mouth, particularly if the thing is cats.

Stealing, of course, is a crime, and a very impolite thing to do. But like most impolite things, it is excusable under certain circumstances. Stealing is not excusable if, for instance, you are in a museum and you decide that a certain painting would look better in your house, and you simply grab the painting and take it there. But if you were very, very hungry, and you had no way of obtaining money, it might be excusable to grab the painting, take it to your house, and eat it.

The moral of 'The Three Bears,' for instance, is 'Never break into someone else's house." The moral of "Snow White" is "Never eat apples." The moral of World War One is "Never assassinate Archduke Ferdinand."

Shyness is a very curious thing, because, like quicksand, it can strike people at any time, and also, like quicksand, it usually makes its victims look down.

Just about everything in this world is easier said than done, with the exception of ‘systematically assisting Sisyphus’s stealthy, syst-susceptible sister,’ which is easier done than said.

A cloud of dust is not a beautiful thing to look at. Very few painters have done portraits of huge clouds of dust or included them in their landscapes or still lifes. Film directors rarely choose huge clouds of dust to play the lead roles in romantic comedies, and as far as my research has shown, a huge cloud of dust has never placed higher than twenty-fifth in a beauty pageant.

It's hard for decent people to stay angry at someone who has burst into tears, which is why it is often a good idea to burst into tears if a decent person is yelling at you.

"People aren't either wicked or noble," the hook-handed man said. "They're like chef's salad, with good things and bad things chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of confusion and conflict."

Perhaps if we saw what was ahead of us, and glimpsed the crimes, follies, and misfortunes that would befall us later on, we would all stay in our mother's wombs, and there would be nobody in the world but a great number of very fat, very irritated women.

France's Blossoming Burqa Ban ...

2010-01-25T15:00:00.001-08:00

Passing laws to punish those who force women to wear a burqa? That, I may understand.

But this?

Banning the burqa across the board? Even for women who WANT to and CHOOSE to wear it? Fining them? Preventing them from using government transportation or picking up children from state-sponsored schools?

A nation that not only rejects religious freedom, but seeks to punish religious expression, walks the road to social chaos. After all, a people will only stand by so long and watch as precious, life-affirming agency gives way to secular insecurities . . . at some point, watching will not be enough.

And the actions that follow - as they inevitably will - may make us all regret the attitude of France and other self-styled secular nations.

NOTE: I do recognize that, in many countries, women do not have a choice of whether to wear the veil or not. Those nations too must change. The key is recognizing that the burqa is not the problem . . . laws that remove a person's right to religious freedom (in either extreme) are the problem.

In that context, it would seem that France is more like Iran than it would like to admit.

The Realities of Spiritual Rebirth ...

2010-01-25T08:03:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite stories from the Book of Mormon has to do with King Lamoni's father and his conversion to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Through a series of events, Lamoni's father,* the king over all the land of the Lamanites, is brought face to face with Aaron, son of the King over the Nephites. Aaron, who is already many years into what would eventually become a fourteen-year mission, was led by the Spirit until he came to the palace of the King.

When Aarono arrived, Lamoni's father, who had recently encountered Aaron's brother and fellow missionary Ammon, was "somewhat troubled in mind" because of Ammon's powerful words and his generosity to the King's son, Lamoni.

After a series of questions and answers, Lamoni's father offers what, in my mind, is one of the most beautiful prayers in all of holy writ (especially considering that it was offered by a person previously unfamiliar with God or His Plan for His children). He said:

O God, Aaron hath told me that there is a God; and if there is a God, and if thou art God, wilt thou make thyself known unto me, and I will give away all my sins to know thee, and that I may be raised from the dead, and be saved at the last day.

Notice that in this prayer, Lamoni's father (whose faith already appeared far greater than II think even he realized) didn't say "I will give away SOME of my sins to know thee" or "I will give away THOSE SINS THAT I'M NOT PARTICULARLY ATTACHED TO AT THE MOMENT to know thee" .... he said "I will give away ALL my sins."

Elder Christofferson provided an insight that, I think, squares well with the idea of giving away all sins - holding nothing back. In the April 2008 General Conference, Elder Christofferson said:

About a century before the birth of Christ, King Benjamin taught his people of the Savior’s advent and Atonement. The Spirit of the Lord wrought such a mighty change in the people that they had “no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually” (Mosiah 5:2). Because of their faith in Christ, they said, “We are willing to enter into a covenant with our God to do his will, and to be obedient to his commandments … all the remainder of our days” (Mosiah 5:5).

. . . The case of Alma is also instructive. As he and his companions went about seeking to destroy the Church of Christ, they were rebuked by an angel. . . . [Then, a]fter “repenting nigh unto death” (Mosiah 27:28) . . . there came to his mind the sweet message of Jesus Christ and His Atonement. . . . Forgiveness came to him, and he stood and publicly confessed: “I have repented of my sins, and have been redeemed of the Lord; behold I am born of the Spirit.”

. . . Being born again, unlike our physical birth, is more a process than an event. And engaging in that process is the central purpose of mortality.

At the same time, [however,] let us not justify ourselves in a casual effort. Let us not be content to retain some disposition to do evil. Let us worthily partake of the sacrament each week and continue to draw upon the Holy Spirit to root out the last vestiges of impurity within us.

True repentance, real rebirth, experiencing that mighty change of heart ... all require a complete change. It is gradual, yes, but it is complete ... honestly renouncing the desire to do evil ... fully rejecting the yearnings of sin.

Nothing less will be good enough.

Now, I am (seriously) the first person to realize that we are all human and we all make mistakes. Even after we've been touched by the Spirit and imbued with that desire to change, we will fall again. I'm sure that even Lamoni's father, King Benjamin's people and Alma the Younger continued to make mistakes throughout their life.

But the point is that their trajectory - their hope for eternal life - did not change. They still wanted to be (and do) good.

Throughout their life, these great people moved further along the road of righteousness towards that heavenly destination. And that, I believe, is what Elder Christofferson is telling us: Casually cutting away our sins here will never be enough to bring the hope of eternity into our life.

If the change only sticks where its convenient or if the rebirth only affects those parts of us we're willing to give up at the moment, we may find ourselves stuck in the rather disfavored ranks of the Lukewarm:

So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth. (Rev. 3:16).

And, when all is said and done, that probably ain't the best place to be.

* NOTE 1: Unfortunately, at no time in the Book of Mormon do we learn Lamoni's father's name. Thus, like most of the great women who inhabit the Book (including the mothers of the young men who battled together under the command of Helaman . . . all of whom were amazing, strong, selfless and, unfortunately, nameless), we'll have to wait for the next life to be formally introduced to this great man.

A Thought on the Special Election ...

2010-01-20T06:30:00.000-08:00

Massachusetts state senator Scott Brown defeated Massachusetts Attorney General Martha Coakley in a stunning, unpredictable finish.

This you know.

Why he won? Well ... they say it all comes down to independent voters.* Refusing to affiliate with a particular political ideology, such voters look to issues and candidates instead of blindly touting the party line. In yesterday's election, they looked, I guess they looked at the issues ... and decided to stick it to a Democrat-controlled legislature by destroying the filibuster-proof supermajority.

"Independents like the checks and balances of divided government. They dislike the ideological arrogance and legislative overreach that comes when one party controls both the White House and Congress."

So they say.**

Well, all I can say is ... Bravo, Massachusetts.***

In recent years, I've begun to view myself as a political moderate who leans conservative on almost all social issues (and many economic ones). I am not extreme, however, and believe, above all, that the genius of our political system comes from balanced government. I don't believe that much good comes when one party (Republican, Democrat or any other) maintains plenary control in Washington.

That is why I applaud the recent election results.

Well, that and the fact that I really don't like the idea of a sitting president trying to sway voters with open endorsements of particular candidates.

Still, between Obama's endorsement of Coakley and his ill-fated trip to Denmark last fall, its becoming more and more apparent that the President may not be the guy you want stumping for you (Bill Thompson: "So say we all!") .

* NOTE 1: "They" are "the media." I guess one nondescript term works just as well as another ...

** NOTE 2: Again, "the media."

*** NOTE 3: One article covering the senate race in Massachusetts included an excellent quote by now-Senator Brown. The article stated:

Asked in a debate last week if he was willing to sit in Kennedy's seat and block health care reform, Brown replied, "With all due respect, it's not the Kennedys' seat, and it's not the Democrats' seat, it's the people's seat."

Indeed, not even the late Ted Kennedy could overcome that logic.

Quotable Quotes: The New Yorker (01-04-10)

2010-01-12T11:32:00.000-08:00

If you want to see Hollywood at the last gasp of its otherworldliness, consult the photograph of [Grace] Kelly and her fellow presenter, Audrey Hepburn, backstage at the Academy Awards in 1956 ... Both are in profile, gazing in expectation, and both wear white gloves. They could be at their first Communion.

The right-wing hippie is a rare bird.

He led with an epigram attributed to Margaret Thatcher: 'The problem with socialism is that eventually you run out of other people's money.'

For people who think that Vampire Weekend is making music that's inauthentic to us, the question is 'What is authentic to us?' Is it the Rolling Stones - some version of black Southern music? There are probably a lot better reasons why you could say we're not good.

It's a mixed-use facility: retail space, low-rent housing, luxury apartments, and an area set aside for making steel.

The [Grace] Kelly effect is not unlike the James Dean effect ... whereby a few brief hours of screen time continue unquenchably to burn.

To some, Whole Foods is Whole Paycheck, an overpriced luxury for yuppie gastronomes and fussy label-readers.

[N]othing can undo the movies that we are led to in our youth, or the skein of impressions that they leave.

During a famous exchange with Francois Truffaut, Hitchcock argued that 'if sex is too blatant or too obvious, there's no suspense. You know why I favor sophisticated blondes in my films? We're after the drawing-room type, the real ladies, who become whores once they're in the bedroom.'

Of destinies, obligations, and responsibilities ...

2010-01-12T09:04:00.000-08:00

This morning, while listening to Elder Dallin H. Oaks' conference talk from last April, I came across a rather interesting point.

Unfortunately, some Latter-day Saints ... choos[e] ... to fix their priorities on the standards and values of the world. Jesus cautioned that Satan desires to sift us like wheat (see Luke 22:31; 3 Nephi 18:18), which means to make us common like all those around us. But Jesus taught that we who follow him should be precious and unique, "the salt of the earth" (Matthew 5:13) and "the light of the world," to shine forth to all men (Matthew 5:14, 16; see also 3 Nephi 18:24).

... [W]e are called to establish the Lord's standards, not to follow the world's. Elder John A. Widtsoe declared, 'We cannot walk as other men, or talk as other men, or do as other men, for we have a different destiny, obligation, and responsibility placed upon us, and we must fit ourselves [to it].' That reality has current application to every trendy action."

Certainly, the idea is not new. Disciples of Jesus Christ, of course, must live in such a way so as to "be in the world, but not of the world."

I guess, though, I had never really thought that one of Satan's chief means of bringing about the destruction of the souls of men would be to simply help each of us adopt the ways of other men to the point that, in the end, we were just another common person in the crowd.

So, I began to ask myself:

(1) Do I watch the same things that other people watch?
(2) Do I dress the way that other people dress?
(3) Do I spend my money on the things that other people spend money on?
(4) If I look, sound, and act like all other people, what is it, exactly, that distinguishes me from all those who do not know (or live) the Gospel?

Sobering questions (Sobering answers?).

Seeing that January is the time of year many people use to re-evaluate their life and make all those glorious New Year's resolutions, maybe its time to consider ways I can more fully fulfill the "destiny, obligation, and responsibility" I have to be the salt and light of the world - a unique, precious leader in the cause of righteousness.

Christmas Morning Blues ...

2010-01-07T06:35:00.000-08:00

Even after Santa comes, it ain't always happy times in Whoville:

Thanks for sending this one along, Aunt Leslie!

2010: The Year of the Half-Marathon ...

2009-12-31T23:28:00.000-08:00

Last year, one of my goals was to run four half marathons. For various reasons (all of which boil down to the fact that I am, apparently, weak sauce), I only ran one.

This year, I'm kicking the goal up a notch to five (and possibly a marathon ... still deciding about that one).

And to make sure I reach that goal, I've already done the research and selected the races. So, in chronological order, here are my half-marathons for 2010:

(1) Garden Spot Village Half Marathon, New Holland, PA (April 10);

(2) Trail Triple Crown Half Marathon, Newark, DE (April 24);

(3) LEAD Strong Half Marathon, Freeland, MD (May 1);

(4) Double Creek Half Marathon, Dover, PA (June 19);

(5) Suncrest Mountain Race Half Marathon, Draper, UT (Sept. 12).*

Farewell sweets; hello asphalt ... just call me Rocky.

* NOTE 1: This last half marathon may be switched or postponed if I decide to run the Top of Utah Marathon in Logan, UT (Sept. 18).

UPDATE: Half-marathon #1 is paid for and ready to go. Boo-yah!

At the Back of the North Wind ...

2009-12-11T07:11:00.000-08:00

There is something truly, breathtakingly exhilarating about winter winds.

Though these cold blowing breezes may sting your toes and bite your nose as over the ground you go (to Grandfather's house, of course), I tend to take Shakespeare's view of things (at least the part about letting that ol' winter wind blow):

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.

In all honestly, I love to feel the chill air ... to let the northern breeze gust around me. At those moments, I feel wonderfully, truly alive and connected to the world. It's just so rare to be able to experience such a sensory explosion.

And that, my friends, is one of the reasons I love Winter!

Sexy Vampire, I'm Falling in Love ...

2009-12-03T06:20:00.000-08:00

The books were a phenomenon ... the movies have become an epic, record-setting event ... love 'em or loathe 'em, you just can't deny the raw emotional effect of the Twilight series.

But you can mock it.

Oh, how you can mock it.

And that's just what Peter Segal and the rest of his ever-ready pack of pop culture cronies (I say that with deep love and respect) did on last week's episode of "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me!" (Best. Radio News Quiz. Ever.).

So here, for your reading pleasure, is that lovely little send-up:

Peter Segal: With Twilight movie number two, New Moon, the series continues its redefinition of vampires. Instead of horrible monsters of the undead, they are unemployed Abercrombie & Fitch Catalog models who sparkle ... They SPARKLE!

And instead of human blood, I believe they drink Red Bull and Vodka.

In this new movie, the vampires are opposed by some monsters from a rival modeling agency. It ends when all the creatures of the night realize what they've been repressing and move in together in a loft in Chelsea.

I'm worried because I'm afraid for our children. What if they ever run into a real vampire? You'll find them lying there on the ground, drained of blood, and they'll be saying, "But I thought he would sparkle ... "

Crony 1 (Old "Never Heard of Twilight" Crony): These Vampires don't bite, is that right?

Crony 2 (Twilight Roadie Crony): Well, they do, yeah ... they have to use restraint with those who they love not to bite.

Crony 3 (Clueless Blonde Crony): What's the sparkle part? I'm so old, I don't ...

Crony 2: When they're in the sun, they sparkle ... What's the matter with you?

Peter: Apparently, these vampires, they don't disintegrate and die in the sun ... as vampires should!

Crony 1: Well, do they have that whole element of driving a stake through the heart ...

Crony 3: ... and garlic and crosses ...

Crony 2: No, they don't have that.

Peter: You see what I mean? Look, you've got to feel bad at this point for, like, the traditional vampires, like Nosferatu ... I mean, he can't get a victim. All the girls are like, "Oh, I'm sorry, I can't let you bite my neck. I think of you as my best, horrific-looking friend. You're the vampire I can talk to ... you know ..."

Crony 2: I think, really, that position was already taken by the Count from Sesame Street, don't you?

Oh, the joys of impromptu mockery.

As if that weren't good enough, though, the segment ended with a clip from a nice techno vampire love fest of a song that included the following lyrics (click here for Youtube music video*):

I forgot to wear my cross tonight, I left my garlic at home
It's so dumb, but it's so fun to wander 'round the city alone
I'm runnin', fallin' down, chase me all around this town
And now you've finally got me ... what am I to do?

Sexy Vampire, I'm falling in love
So just bite me, baby, and drink all my blood (oh yeah)
Sexy Vampire, I'm falling in love with you
So do what you want to do

Let's hear it for Team "Whatever I Can Get!"

* NOTE 1: I haven't watched the Youtube video yet, so no guarantees.

It Feels Like Christmas ...

2009-11-29T16:44:00.000-08:00

I love Christmas. I love the smiles, the laughter, the singing, the dancing, the gratitude for gifts given and received, the joy of friends and family, and the opportunity to celebrate the "good tidings of great joy which shall be unto all people." It is the season of the Spirit ... the Spirit of Christ.

One of my greatest joys at this time of year (among many) comes from watching those good ol' heartwarming and chuckle-inducing movies that foster a desire to bring peace on earth and good will toward men. (Or, at the very least, spread a few smiles ;). Among those happy films are such classics as White Christmas, It's a Wonderful Life, Scrooge (The Musical), A Christmas Story, Holiday Inn, Elf and ...

The Muppet Christmas Carol.

Oh, how I love the Muppets and their take on one of the most beloved Christmas tales ever told. And what's not to love? Lines infused with wit and good humor ... music filled to the brim with infectious melodies and inspiring lyrics ... and Kermit the Frog.

In the spirit of this show (which I watched recently ... the first of multiple viewings this season, I'm sure), I decided to share some of my favorite quotes.

And so, in no particular order, here they are:

Rizzo: There are two things in life I hate ... heights and jumping from them.
Gonzo: Come on, I'll catch you.
Rizzo: God save my little broken body.
[Jumps and falls to the ground. He looks at Gonzo]
Gonzo: ... Missed.
Rizzo: Oh wait ... I forgot my jellybeans.
[Slides through the bars to retrieve them, and joins Gonzo back on the other side. Gonzo is staring at him]
Rizzo: What?
Gonzo: You can fit through those bars?
Rizzo: Yeah.
Gonzo: You are such an idiot.

Ghost of Christmas Present: Did I mention I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present?
Ebenezer Scrooge: Yes ... you did.
Ghost: Well, then come in and know me better, man.
Scrooge: You're a little absent-minded, spirit.
Ghost: No, I'm a LARGE absent-minded spirit.

Rizzo: That's it ... how do you know what Scrooge is doin'? We're down here and he's up there.
Gonzo: I told you, storytellers are omniscient; I know everything!
Rizzo: Well hoity-toity, Mr. Godlike Smarty-Pants.

Here are some of my favorite lines from that old 'n ornery duo, Statler and Waldorf:

Fozziwig: Here is my Christmas speech. "Thank you all, and Merry Christmas."
Jacob Marley: That was the speech?
Robert Marley: It was dumb!
Jacob: It was obvious!
Robert: It was pointless!
Jacob: It was...
[turns to Robert]
Jacob: ... short ...
Jacob & Marley: I loved it!

Scrooge: You were always criticizing me.
Robert: We were always heckling you.
Jacob: It's good to be heckling again ...
Robert: It's good to be doing anything again.

In closing, I just wanted to add the lyrics to my favorite song in the show: It Feels Like Christmas:

It's in the singing of a street corner choir
It's going home and getting warm by the fire
It's true wherever you find love
It feels like Christmas

A cup of kindness that we share with another
A sweet reunion with a friend or a brother
In all the places you find love
It feels like Christmas

It is the season of the heart
A special time of caring
The ways of love made clear
It is the season of the spirit
The message if we hear it
Is make it last all year

It's in the giving of a gift to another
A pair of mittens that were made by your mother
It's all the ways that we show love
That feel like Christmas

A part of childhood we'll always remember
It is the summer of the soul in December
Yes, when you do your best for love
It feels like Christmas

It's in the singing of a street corner choir
It's going home and getting warm by the fire
It's true, wherever you find love
It feels like Christmas
It's true, wherever you find love
It feels like Christmas

Well, that's it for now my friends. I love you all and hope that this season brings joy and merriness and a renewed desire to ease the pain and troubles of the world.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Julie & Julia ...

2009-11-28T23:05:00.000-08:00

Saw the movie. Enjoyed it (Adams and Streep = fantasticfulness at the box office).

More importantly, though, I want to start really learning how to cook ... especially French foods. Let's see where that adventure takes me.

UPDATE: I just reserved a copy of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" at the library.

UPDATE 2: I realized last night that I have never owned a cookbook. Ever. This is odd, considering that I love to cook. It's less odd, though, when I remember that every time I need a recipe, I either get online or call my mother or sister (who could kick the pants off any chef on the Food Network). Maybe this cookbook thing will start a new era of delicious, hitherto unknown food in my life ... then again, it may just be a phase I'm going through.

The Importance of the One ...

2009-11-20T06:29:00.000-08:00

This morning on my way into work, I happened across one of Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin's last talks before he passed away on Dec. 2, 2008. How dearly do I miss his sweet and unassuming presence; his kind heart; the affable twinkle in his eye. What an amazing servant of God he was (and is).

Elder Wirthlin began his April 2008 sermon with this insight into the life of President Monson (who had been sustained as the Prophet that afternoon). He said:

While it is a compliment to [President Monson] that many of the great and mighty of this world know and honor him, perhaps it is an even greater tribute that many of the lowly call him friend.
To his core, President Monson is kind and compassionate. His words and deeds exemplify his concern for the one.

I've always thought President Monson to be the walking epitome of charity ... but oh, the volumes more it speaks when Elder Wirthlin says, "Many of the lowly call him friend."

How often are we only willing to become (and remain) friends with those who have something to offer us? Prestige, power, money, thrills? Squishy feelings of love and acceptance? So often we effectively say to others, "bring these to the table, or don't bother sitting down."

But how rarely do we reach beyond our own thoughts and needs and instead of asking "what can this person bring to our friendship," ask, "what can I bring"?

If we desire to be "kind and compassionate" to the core, Elder Wirthlin suggests that we must change the object of our human relations from concern for the self and concern for the many to concern for the other and concern for the One. We must be willing, as the Savior said, to leave the ninety-and-nine that prosper so that we may seek out the One that wanders.

In this talk, Elder Wirthlin chose to focus, in part, on the Ones that are lost or feel out of place in this Church (for whatever reason). As he said:

Some are lost because they are different. They feel as though they don’t belong. Perhaps because they are different, they find themselves slipping away from the flock. They may look, act, think, and speak differently than those around them and that sometimes causes them to assume they don’t fit in. They conclude that they are not needed.

Tied to this misconception is the erroneous belief that all members of the Church should look, talk, and be alike. The Lord did not people the earth with a vibrant orchestra of personalities only to value the piccolos of the world. Every instrument is precious and adds to the complex beauty of the symphony. All of Heavenly Father’s children are different in some degree, yet each has his own beautiful sound that adds depth and richness to the whole.

Two thoughts from this amazing quote:

First, one of the greatest things we can do in this life is to help each One of God's sons and daughters realize their place in the grand symphonic Plan. Each One of us has a part to play ... sometimes we're just not sure what it is or are too timid to pipe up. When we stop spending all our time with the majority of the orchestra - who each know their part - and instead seek out and help that oh-so-crucial player who sits shyly, unsure of her part, how much better will the song become? How much more beautiful will life be for this new player that adds her tenor to the "complex beauty" of the Plan?

Second, if you're a piccolo of the world and get to feeling a little bit haughty, high, or mighty ... stop it. Now, don't get me wrong. Each piccolo is needed (and is most certainly loved) ... but at the same time, know that people can usually only take your shrill little whistle so long before they go running for the earplugs.

Instead of seeking to impress others with the rapture of our song or trying to make others switch instruments to play the part of the piccolo, we should withhold judgment, take a look around, and reach out to the One that sits apart ... to the One that sits alone.

The amazing thing is that, as we do this, we will come to understand our own part in God's symphony all the more clearly. After all,

He that findeth his life shall lost it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.
- Matthew 10:39

Legendary Florida Road Trip '09: Part I ...

2009-11-17T12:25:00.000-08:00

Every picture tells a story ... but some of those stories become slightly more awesome with a little literary license.* In that vein, I've selected a few random un-photoshopped wonders from Legendary Florida Road Trip '09 to share with a (hopefully) welcoming world:

(1) So I said to Bonnie, "how great would it be to get our picture taken in front of this ancient Mayan temple (conveniently located in the exact spot that would later become the Epcot center world tour)?" She agreed and up the stairs we went.

But what I didn't tell her was that I really just wanted to re-enact the ancient Mayan tradition of sacrificing the most senior member of a road trip to the largest male member of that road trip ... tee hee hee ...

(2) One of the most amazing things about road trips is you get to learn SO MUCH about the people you're traveling with. For instance, here we learned about Janelle's long-lost childhood dream of being an astronaut ... and about Deana's undying hatred for all things "NASA."

All I can say is, Neil Armstrong better watch out ... after all, you should have seen what Deana did to the life-size statue of Buzz Lightyear ...

(3) Now, by all appearances, this picture looks fairly normal ... a NY-hearting Matt, a camera-clad Bonnie, a sausage-and-sourkraut-filled Deana, and a root-beer swizzling Janelle. But look closer. Four glasses in the picture ... three filled with sweet, sugary nectar (otherwise known as Root Beer) ... but one is COMPLETELY EMPTY. Turns out Bonnie is quite the drinker, especially when you get her in an all-you-can-drink German Restaurant.

How many drinks did she have over the course of our trip? Ich nur Bahnhof verstehen!

(4) So you're probably all thinking, "I could have sworn he said all these pictures where 'un-photoshopped' ... I mean, he even made up a word to get that point across."

Ahhhh, but what you don't realize is that this ISN'T photoshopped ... as part of our magical visit to Florida, we all had a lovely visit to the "Sorcerer's Apprentice Do-It-Yourself Plastic Surgeon Cartoon Face Factory" (patent pending). During the visit, one of the nice trinket-selling attendants invited us to try on a new face for the day. As the attendant told us, "[h]ere in Theme Park World, we strive to give every visitor a slap-happy glance into the wacky world of Disney ... go ahead and go crazy!"

Looking back now, I think it may be an improvement.

(5) Not much to add here ... as far as I can tell, it's just three happy people enjoying the endearing magic of a runaway East Coast road trip.

Two points for randomness!

* NOTE 1: Most of this is true ... but literary license, after all, presupposes a certain amount of falsity, no?

Wii Dance ... and We're Adorable ...

2009-11-17T06:22:00.000-08:00

About a month back, I headed home to Utah for the wedding of one of my bestest buds in the whole-wide, ever-living world: Monsiuer Eric Boyd Vogeler. He and his lovely sweetheart, the Erin formerly known as Roundy, were sealed together for time and all eternity in the Salt Lake Temple in an absolutely beautiful, tear-jerking ceremony.

I love weddings. They make me cry (of course, this may not be saying much ... a particularly poignant episode of Duck Tales may make me cry).

While I was home for the wedding, though, I had the chance to join my sister Amy in the ever-wonderful task of babysitting three of my nieces - Katie, Maylie, and Maddie. Golly bob howdy, ain't they cute? I mean, they are mindblowingly adorable. Just look at this picture of Maddie:

They are so cute, in fact, that the annual (and completely unbiased) "Cutest Nieces in the World Competition" found these girls tied for first place along with the always darling Libby Locks and ever lovely Emma. If you overlook the German judges' score (who knocked off two points for inability to "sprechen" the "Deutsch"), they were flawless.

And so it was with excitement (driven by an uncle's love) that I arrived to babysit (while my brother and sister-in-law went to play dodgeball ... such a cool idea). The evening started out beautifully as we all sat and watched Jimmy Neutron (see below).

After it ended, I asked the girls what they wanted to do and they pointed to the little platform in the corner. I recognized it as the platform used in Wii Fit. Having played the game once before with my good friend, Kyle Woods, I thought it would be fun to try it with my nieces. Little did I know the cuteness I had in store.

Here are just a few of the pics from that blessed evening:

And that, my friends, is why life is so good. Every time I feel the semblance of a frown or ornery disposition coming on, all I have to do is think of little Katie and Maylie trying to do Yoga or Ski down electronic slopes as I watch from the wings of a lovely home in Eagle Mountain.

Oh, what a great ride!

Pedro was here ...

2009-11-12T11:56:00.000-08:00

The signs begin almost 200 miles away.

Most of these irreverent (and frequently incomprehensible) signs feature the same extravagantly stereotypical sombrero & poncho wearing Mexican bandido cartoon character . . . and with each billboard, we are brought more fully into the world of Pedro.

The miles tick on, the strings of the trap tighten, and unwary travelers find themselves - almost as if driven by an unnatural force - pulling off at the first exit beyond the borders of North Carolina.

The Place: South of the Border.

The Purpose: To redefine the meaning of "multi-colored roadside hell."

The happiest place on earth this is not.

I mean, I've been in half-century old Southeast Asian bathrooms with more general appeal (and fewer insects) than SOB (the acronym for the town, as featured on the nearby water tower). Far from the slightly racist, kitschy, and kid-catching cartoon character the signs make him out to be, Pedro is more a modern day Virgil, guiding you carefully through various creative and fiery tortures before finally setting you lose to claw your way back to purgatory (i.e., the rest of South Carolina? Not sure about that analogy, but I'm sticking with it just to give Dante a well-deserved shout out).

Beginning life as a beer stand in 1950, SOB once had enough tourist-trap energy to power its own police and fire department. It's been a part of I-95 road trip lore for ages ... trapping and tricking tourists with its large contingent of ill-spirited plastic poltergeists.

How many people have been permanently scarred by over-exposure, we may never know (and the body count keeps rising). At the very least, though, we can number Ben Bernanke among them. Though he is now Chairman of the Fed, ol' Ben worked there one summer as a poncho-wearing waiter to help pay his way through Harvard.

From what I've been told, he's still working it out in therapy.

Having been to SOB and having unwisely partaken of its unrecognizable "foods,"* I fear that I may be required - as was Persephone - to return each year and pay penance for the only truly unfortunate decision of Legendary Florida Road Trip '09 (look for more on that later).

But regardless of what happens to me, it's not too late for you. So please ... heed the warning of one who has been down that road ... stay away, my friends, and always beware the wicked face of the Smiling Bandido.**

* Think "meat" smothered in fifty year old nacho cheese ...

** Legal Disclaimer: Consider yourself warned. If after reading this post, you still decide to stop, I cannot be held accountable for the consequences (i.e., subsequent recurring nightmares and medical bills).

Just call me Esquire ...

2009-11-05T07:20:00.000-08:00

NAME: MATTHEW GORDON WRIGHT

Date of Birth: 05/82

The New York State Board of Law Examiners congratulates you on passing the New York State bar examination held on July 28-29, 2009. An official certification notice has been emailed to the email address currently on file with the Board. The email will include an attachment with your official bar exam results, which will be in Adobe pdf. A copy of the Notice of Certification must be filed with the Appellate Division as part of your application for admission.

Three years of law school ... three months of laborious study in dark corners of the law library ... two days of testing surrounded by other panic-stricken would-be lawyers ... and three months of waiting ... AND I PASSED!

All I can say is, what a relief. Hallelujah! If you were here, you'd hear me singing:

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
My, oh my what a wonderful day!
Plenty of sunshine heading my way
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay

Mister Bluebird on my shoulder
It's the truth, it's actch'll
Ev'rything is satisfactch'll
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
Wonderful feeling, wonderful day!

I thank my family and friends and anyone who had to put up with me during the entire month of July. And especially, I thank my Heavenly Father, without whom I would be nothing.

Caught in the Act ...

2009-11-04T10:44:00.000-08:00

As many of you may realize, I like music. A lot. We're talking Himalayan levels of like here.

And what's more, I like to sing and dance ... often at the same time.*

On occasion, though, my love of music and dance has ousted me to the rest of the world as a true blue, dyed in the wool crazy person.

Yesterday was one of those times.

See, at the end of a long, mentally-exhausting day interpreting the law and fashioning equitable remedies in the Court of Chancery, I grab my suit jacket, say goodbye to those poor souls still slinking about the office, turn on my iPod, and head to one of the most solitary and sacred of urban high-rise locales: the Elevator.**

There's something absolutely invigorating about stepping into an unoccupied elevator at the end of the day knowing that, for the next eleven floors, ain't nothing nor nobody gonna intrude upon your metal-sided sanctuary. And it's that same something that gets my toes a tappin'.

After all, when you get songs like "You Make My Dreams" by Hall & Oates pumping through those little white earbuds, you can't help but want to bust a groove. (Of course, by "you" I mean "I"). And so I do. Frequently.

Like this guy.

Now, most days no one is the wiser. After the doors close I begin an epic Astairean tribute that continues through each successive floor until, sadly, those doors open again on level 1.*** Most days, I then step out, mind a'jive with musical mojo but body back to being all business (part of that whole "responsible lawyer" image I've been cultivating).

Sometimes, though, the song is too good ... or the ride is too short ... or the Courthouse seems too empty ... and my toes twinkle a bit longer as I glide across the well-tred linoleum and into the always unoccupied bathroom.

I emphasize the word always. After 5:30 p.m., I have NEVER seen another soul in that bathroom. EVER. That is why, if the groove is really too good to give up, I will sometimes just keep on keepin' on (After all, it's actually kind of fun to watch yourself dance in the mirror).

But yesterday ... well, yesterday, the unthinkable happened. In the midst of one of my particularly flamboyant "Twist and Shout" moves, in walked an after-hours janitor. Caught off guard almost as much as I was, he looked somewhat flustered - sort of the look you would expect from someone who had never seen someone dancing by themselves to (apparently) non-existent music in an otherwise unoccupied bathroom.

There I was: The crazy guy in a suit. But you know what? Despite my mid-routine halt ... despite the keen sense of embarrassment ... I just had to laugh. In fact, I grinned and chuckled the full half-mile back to my car.

After all, sometimes the absurdity of the moment is just too great not to.

* NOTE 1: I, of course, do not claim to be good (or even decent) at either.

** NOTE 2: As a would-be lawyer, I long ago embraced the serial comma (or Oxford Comma as it is sometimes known). I try to do this unpretentiously. In fact, even when using it, I tend to think to myself some lyrics from "Oxford Comma" by Vampire Weekend - namely, "[w]ho gives a $^@#&@ about an Oxford Comma?"

*** NOTE 3: I recognize that many elevators - including mine - have cameras and that there is the distinct possiblity that someone, somewhere could be watching these Gene Kelly-esque shenanigans ... but I figure that if your job is to sit around monitoring the elevators for signs of danger or terrorism, you'd probably appreciate a large, goofy-looking white man dancing alone to some (apparently) non-existent music from time to time. I know I would.

I've Been Missing Out ...

2009-10-29T11:17:00.000-07:00

I can't believe what a schmuck I've been. For the past several years now, the Church has been holding annual General Relief Society Meetings ... and I, being the non-RS male that I am, completely ignored them. Until today.

This morning while deciding what Conference talks to listen to on my way into work (nothing inspires a better day than listening to the words of the prophets and leaders of the Church), I stopped on the talk by Sister Beck given at the last GRSM.

It was phenomenal. I've always considered Sister Beck rather astounding, but this was particularly excellent.

Two points from that superb talk:

Point 1: Sister Beck quotes a talk by Pres. Uchtdorf where, as Sister Beck recounts, Pres. Uchtdorf told BYU students:

'A wise man once distinguished between "the noble art of getting things done" and "a nobler art of leaving things undone." True "wisdom in life," he taught, consists of "the elimination of non-essentials."' President Uchtdorf then asked: 'What are the nonessential things that clutter your days and steal your time? What are the habits you may have developed that do not serve a useful purpose? What are the unfinished or unstarted things that could add vigor, meaning, and joy to your life?'

Ok ... so I don't have an answer for that one yet. But I'm going to. How amazing will it be to cut out those non-essential activities that do, in fact, clutter my life? I mean, how much time have I been wasting on things that in the grand scheme (or even just in this earthly scheme) don't matter a two-pence or a hey-nonny-nonny?

Answer: Far, far too much. Fortunately, thanks to Sister Beck, I now have a new goal.

Point 2: Actually, this is more of a question. Part-way through the talk, Sister Beck mentioned certain RS meetings formerly known as "home, family, and personal enrichment" meetings. I know I am admitting far more of my daftness than I should, but I nevertheless must ask, what are/were these meetings? Are they just the RS "enrichment" meetings that I hear about from time to time?

I can't believe I haven't been listening to the GRSM until now. Purposefully depriving myself of amazingly spiritual and uplifting talks inspiring me to a better life? Silly Matt ...

Kids Say the Darndest Things ...

2009-10-29T07:33:00.000-07:00

Several weeks ago, my sister-in-law Dede posted a story about my little niece Mayli (who is three years old and a spitball of fire and fury . . . independent and amazing). I thought it was too good not to share:

Mayli fell down and scraped her knees today. While I was cleaning her up, she said, "Mom, I'm missing a piece of my leg! We need to fix it! Where is the glue?"

I laughed and said, "the glue?"

She responded, "Yes mom, the glue that you put on Kay's stiches!"

I said, "oh, the Neosporin?"

Mayli replied, "Yes mom, the evil-sporin; I need the evil-sporin to fix my leg."

Without question, one of the funniest conversations of the year.

I LOVE BEING AN UNCLE!

Note: Mayli and Katelyn (her older sister) also happen to be ridiculously cute when they do just about anything . . . including playing Wii Fit. Click here for pictures.

The New Invisible Man ...

2009-10-19T08:10:00.000-07:00

Incredible.
Phenomenal.
Mindblowing.

No, really ... it will blow your mind.

And all I can say is Waldo better watch out ... Liu is on the rise.

Liu Boilin, a young photographer and artist from Beijing, received the ridiculously awesome moniker "The Invisible Man" for his artistic ability to blend his body into his surroundings. A true-life human chameleon (not to be confused with The Chameleon, a notable entry in the pantheon of Spiderman super-villians), Liu blends in with almost any surrounding.

I was so astounded by the work that I just couldn't help but post a few of the pictures I've been able to find:

What makes this interesting to me, though, is the reason behind Liu's work. As he stated to the telegraph, a British newspaper:

Some people call me the invisible man, but for me it's what is not seen in a picture which really tells the story. I experienced the dark side of society, without social relations, and had a feeling that no one cared about me, I felt myself unnecessary in this world.

Reading that, I have the greatest desire to expand my efforts, caring about people more and (what's crucial) showing my love so that far fewer people will have to feel the way Liu felt.

Mucho thanks to Josh Law for his electronic tip-off to this phenomenal talent.

Those wacky bankers ...

2009-10-15T06:52:00.000-07:00

I recently came across a whiz-bag-guffaw-a-minute-gem of financial comedy written by British funny-man and "Hottie from History" designator extraordinaire, Andy Zaltzman.

(actual photo ... he really looks like this ... I mean, fire shoots out of the back of his head)

The book is titled, intriguingly enough, "Does Anything Eat Bankers?: And 53 Other Indispensable Questions for the Credit Crunched." As far as I can tell from the short snippets Amazon lets me view free of charge (never enough ... NEVER enough), it looks to be ... wait for it ... tear-inducingly hilarious. My favorite quote (thus far) is included below:

High street banks began behaving increasingly tittishly towards their customers, offering their savers lower rates of interest than a 50-volume encyclopedia of socks, and fining them for being financially unsuccessful – when Muddy Waters bluesily mused that “you can’t lose what you never had,” he had clearly never been £1 over his overdraft limit for twenty minutes

In a further blot on Waters’s already minimal reputation as a financial adviser, the Credit Crunch has now proved conclusively that: (a) you quite clearly can lose what you never had; (b) you can also lose what no-one every had; and (c) the time has come to try to stop losing stuff as a general rule. Waters may have been the ‘Father of Chicago Blues,’ and to listen to a single wordless murmur of his voice may be to imbibe liquefied elemental truth, but the time has come to reassess the economic reliability of his lyrics.

That Zaltzman is such a kidder. Golly bob howdy.

Nobel Peace Prize Jumps the Shark ...

2009-10-09T10:52:00.000-07:00

President Obama was sworn in as the 44th president on Jan. 20, 2009. The list of Nobel Peace Prize contenders was compiled February 1, 2009.

Despite doing nothing more than a one-term junior senator from Chicago or week and a half president could do to bring peace in his limited sphere, Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize this morning.

In the words of one news report:

Obama was selected not for substantive accomplishments, but for his "vision" and inspiring "hope" at the beginning of his presidency.
"For 108 years, the Norwegian Nobel Committee has sought to stimulate precisely that international policy and those attitudes for which Obama is now the world's leading spokesman," the committee said, explaining its decision.

All right. Stop. Say that again?

So apparently, what won Obama the 2009 Nobel Peace Prize was ... wait for it ... A SLOGAN! After all, "Change We Can Believe In" shouldn't just be enough to win a presidency. Oh, no. It should bring with it all the treasures of the earth and honors we can think of (Grammy anyone? We'll see if Kanye can introduce the award for "Best Presidential iTunes Playlist").

It's official, the Nobel Peace Prize just jumped the shark ... and now has the reputational impact of Time's Person of the Year.

Next year's winner? Well, let's just say that now that the preemptive precedent has been set, I'm throwing my hat in the ring.

NOTE: I like Obama. Really, I do (even though I may not agree with a number of his policies or approaches to government). The above is more a slip-slap, jib-jab at the prize givers than anything else. I actually like what Obama said when he found out (probably more shocked than any of us) that he had won the Prize:

To be honest, I do not feel that I deserve to be in the company of so many of the transformative figures who've been honored by this prize -- men and women who've inspired me and inspired the entire world through their courageous pursuit of peace.

Let's just hope the award does spark the peace and prosperity it was meant to honor.

Lost Souls ...

2009-10-06T10:32:00.000-07:00

While reading "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society" (TGL&PPS) as part of my book club - the Far-Flung Bibliophiles - I came across a rather interesting quote by Thomas Carlyle on man's relation to the Soul. As quoted in the book, Carlyle writes:

Does it never give thee pause, that men used to have a soul — not by hearsay alone, or as a figure of speech: but as a truth that they knew, and acted upon! Verily it was another world then … but yet it is a pity we have lost the tidings of our souls ... we shall have to go in search of them again, or worse in all ways shall befall us.

The author of TGL&PPPS then suggests a profound follow-up:

Did any of you ever think that along about the time the notion of a SOUL gave out, Freud popped up with the EGO to take its place? ... It is my belief that men must spout this twaddle about egos, because they fear they have no soul.

Nearly all of the traits society has neglected in its swaggle through modernity - including virtue, sobriety, civility, and love - find the beginning of loss in a refusal to believe in or tend to the soul. Society, as Elder D. Todd Cristofferson said last Sunday, has exchanged the once inviolate internal controls that, based largely on religious thought and civil upbringing, used to ensure proper behaviour for a mess of external ones. Instead of an inner moral compass - that derives automatically from recognizing the reality of the soul - society now relies on ever-changing, pliable "regulations" to keep us in check.*

But no matter how many rules are written, unless humanity again learns to recognize the soul (not as hearsay or naive mythology, but as eternal truth) and act accordingly, we will never be able to prevent the nearly inevitable slog away from decency and toward degenerative degradation.

* Interesting Side Note: E. Christofferson seems to suggest that the effectiveness of a free market model depends not on an unbreakable tome of rules and regulations (as many in Washington seem to believe), but instead on a system of internal ethical and moral controls that must be imbued into the very nature of the people who work within the market.

Too. Many. (Brilliant). Lawyers.

2009-10-01T08:03:00.000-07:00

During Supreme Court week last June, each of the sitting Supreme Court Justices participated in interviews on C-SPAN. Though the transcripts aren't available yet, thanks to the WSJ, we have a snippet from that easily-mocked, neocon originalist, J. Scalia:

Well, you know, two chiefs ago, Chief Justice Burger, used to complain about the low quality of counsel. I used to have just the opposite reaction. I used to be disappointed that so many of the best minds in the country were being devoted to this enterprise.

I mean there’d be a, you know, a defense or public defender from Podunk, you know, and this woman is really brilliant, you know. Why isn’t she out inventing the automobile or, you know, doing something productive for this society?

I mean lawyers, after all, don’t produce anything. They enable other people to produce and to go on with their lives efficiently and in an atmosphere of freedom. That’s important, but it doesn’t put food on the table and there have to be other people who are doing that. And I worry that we are devoting too many of our very best minds to this enterprise.

And they appear here in the Court, I mean, even the ones who will only argue here once and will never come again. I’m usually impressed with how good they are. Sometimes you get one who’s not so good. But, no, by and large I don’t have any complaint about the quality of counsel, except maybe we’re wasting some of our best minds.

Too many lawyers ... that I've heard. But too many BRILLIANT lawyers wasting their significant talents in the law, when they could be using their genius to produce things?

What say ye, my friends, should I go back for my engineering degree ... or just start writing a book?

I wonder what he thinks of Investment Bankers ...

A private Hall of Fame ...

2009-09-29T07:40:00.000-07:00

I received an e-mail from a friend recently with a quote from President Monson. In this quote, the Prophet talked about driving through New York with a friend on a cold wintry day and passing by an understandably deserted Yankees stadium. As he did so, his mind immediately drifted to the heroes of his youth - Babe Ruth, Joe Dimaggio, and others - who had become legends of the sport and had their legacies safely enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Pres. Monson explains why those men deserved such honor ... and then asked a rather thought-provoking question: Who would we place in our own personal Hall of Fame? Which men and women would take a place in the hollowed rooms we reserve for those who have truly shaped and molded us?

I'm not going to share the people in my personal Hall of Fame right now. Maybe, someday, I'll feel comfortable sharing that. But in the meantime, I wanted to close this little post the way Pres. Monson ended his story. After asking what good it can do for us to build our own Hall of Fame, he says:

When we obey as did Adam, endure as did Job, teach as did Paul, testify as did Peter, serve as did Nephi, give ourselves as did the Prophet Joseph, respond as did Ruth, honor as did Mary, and live as did Christ, we are born anew. All power becomes ours. Cast off forever is the old self, and with it defeat, despair, doubt, and disbelief. To a newness of life we come--a life of faith, hope courage, and joy. No task looms too large. No responsibility weighs too heavily. No duty is a burden. All things become possible.

Sounds like a pretty amazing promise to me.

On the passing of Elsie Mae Wright ...

2009-09-28T09:00:00.000-07:00

Last week, my dear step-grandmother Elsie Mae passed away after suffering a stroke. She married my grandfather on my father's side shortly after I was born (this was the grandfather from whom I take my middle name). Though I will miss her - as I do both my grandmother and grandfather on my father's side - I love her and know that, after years of alternating difficulty and delight, she has moved on to a better world, to await the glory of the resurrection. Below is the main part of her obituary.

Our dear Elsie Mae Rhodes Blood Evans Wright, 80, passed away September 18, 2009 in Salt Lake City after a challenging but fulfilling life. She was born October 18, 1928 to Anna M. and William Arthur Rhodes at her grandmother’s home outside of Monticello, Utah and was raised in Ferron, Utah. On February 11, 1946 she married Adren Wayne Blood, and their marriage was later solemnized in the Salt Lake Temple. Elsie Mae and Wayne were called by President George Albert Smith of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and faithfully served together as missionaries in the Northern States Mission (Iowa and Illinois) between 1951-1953. Upon returning home, they were blessed to adopt two wonderful children, Wendy and David. After Wayne’s untimely death, Elsie Mae remarried Arthur John Jr. (Jack) Evans, the father of four children on November 29, 1973. Elsie Mae cared dearly for Jack who later passed away from cancer. Elsie Mae continued her genealogy work and service in the Jordan River Temple where she later met and married Gordon Wright, the father of 12 children, on May 10, 1986. Shortly after their marriage, Elsie Mae and Gordon fulfilled a mission to the Manila, Philippine Temple where Gordon served in the Temple Presidency. After returning home, Elsie Mae and Gordon served in the Jordan River Temple until Gordon passed away April 10, 2003.

Elsie Mae withstood and overcame many challenges in her life, especially including the loss of loved ones and the dehabilitating effects of two strokes. Elsie Mae was a beloved daughter of God and an elect lady. She was called to many church callings and faithfully served with all her heart, might, mind and strength. She possessed the gift of friendship and loved the many people she met and over her lifetime. She looked after and cared for the lonely, the sick and the grieving. She was a teacher of truth with faith in and a firm and unshakable testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. She was beloved by many. Elsie Mae fought the good fight and finished her work here upon the earth.

Farewell, dear Elsie, Earth's day is done,
Your spirit now to Peace is gone,
And with you to our God we send,
Our love ... Until we meet again.

Searching for ticks ...

2009-09-17T10:27:00.000-07:00

I have rarely been so freaked out in my life. Sitting in the car a few days back, some of my new Delawarean and Marylander friends hit on a rather interesting and life-changing topic: Lyme disease.

The name certainly rang a bell ... in the distant, rarely used quadrant of my mind. I mean, I've heard the term before. But I didn't realize just how CRAZY INSANE it really was. Apparently, according to wikipedia - that know-it-all internet-based friend - Lyme Disease causes "severe and chronic symptoms affect[ing] many parts of the body, including the brain, nerves, eyes, joints and heart."

And do you know the worst part? It's all caused by ticks - ticks that are very common in the part of Delaware where I live. I'm getting creeped out just thinking about it.

This all came as a horrible and uncomfortable surprise. I mean, up to this point, my only actual knowledge of ticks came from "The Tick" - the most amazing cartoon (and live-action) superhero satire ever created (sorry "Mystery Men" ... that includes you). He made ticks seem somehow ... well, awesome.

But now, thanks to ticks and well-meaning-but-incredibly-freaky-knowledge-sharing friends, on top of male pattern baldness, spontaneous dental hydroplosion, and high blood pressure, I have to worry about a disease that could cause "[m]yriad disabling symptoms ... including permanent paraplegia."

Fffhfhwhfwh ... thanks a lot.

Tired at Ten ...

2009-09-10T19:12:00.000-07:00

This isn't right ... I should be bouncing off the walls with the sheer exuberance of youth; I should be so high on life and/or sugar that the very mention of sleep would make me double over in scornful delight; I should be ready to pull an all-nighter just to watch the sun rise over the coastal sands.

But I'm not.

I'm tired.

And, as soon as I write in my journal, I'm going to bed.

God save my aging body.

Trogging ...

2009-08-26T20:08:00.000-07:00

Hallelujah and Pass the Tax Rebate! After months of anticipation, preparation, and ________tion, I finally made it the big "Back East." (I still think it's slightly odd that we speak of going "Out West" and "back East," but never "out East" or "back West." It's almost like we just can't escape the East as America's birthplace ... ). Last Friday after three glorious days of asphalt and amazing good times (in Nauvoo, Kirtland, Hershey, and other places), my father, sister and I finally pulled in to the land I'll be calling home for the next year. And boy was it humid.

Now, though I've been here for a full five days, tonight was the first time I was able to go about exploring the area next to my house ... and I'm kickin' myself that I waited this long. Turns out that right next to my new apartment is a 600-acre State park called White Clay Creek - a Godsend for a nature lovin', Utah-mountain-missin' boy like me.

I actually stumbled across it while jogging through the neighborhood. Noticing an oddly placed trail off the side of one of the roads I was running on (which afforded very little space between me and oncoming traffic), I decided to try it out. Two seconds in, I was in a different world. And now that I've been there, I'm not going back anytime soon.

See, I love to jog. Have for about two and a half years now. It's fun; it's energy building & releasing (quite a lovely combination); and it's just what the doctor ordered to keep my weight at a manageable level. But more than that, it really puts me in touch with my surroundings. My senses are always at their fullest during a run ... I see better, I hear better, I feel better and I smell better (at least in one sense). But now, after traipsing across the trails of White Clay Creek State Park, I've decided that in my heart of hearts, I'm actually a Trogger.* That's right, a Trogger ... a Trail Jogger.

Honestly, I'd like to be a Trunner/Trainner (Trail Runner), but I'm a little too slow and pudgy (some would say cute, cuddly, and stuffed with fluff ... and who am I too quibble). So, for now I'm just gonna have to enjoy the beauty and love of the great outdoors in Delaware via the occasional morning Trog.

* After thinking about the word, I Googled it ... and oddly enough, it turned out someone else had already coined the term, albeit with an entirely different definition: According to the web dictionary, "trogging" is a verbal portmanteau (thank you Mr. Carroll) created by combining Trust + Blogging. That is, to "trog" is to "use blogs to build trust and transparency."

I like my definition better.

So close ... so close ...

2009-07-29T09:22:00.000-07:00

I couldn't help but laugh.

As I walked through the muggy parking lot at the Desmond Hotel, 1.5 miles from the Albany airport, I saw a girl's face as she sat in her car talking on a cell phone ... and I couldn't help but laugh.

All of the sudden, the whole, sadistic hazing-on-a-grand-legalized-scale just smacked me in the face. I mean, the girl looked like she was about to cry. Now, it may not have been because of the bar. She might have been experiencing some other tragic, painful, drawn-out and confidence smashing event I didn't know about; but then again, res ipsa loquitur* ... ha, ha.

But even if her near-tears were entirely unrelated to the exam, seeing her face made me realize the tremendous silliness of the whole process. And I just had to chortle a little.

As I write this, I still have one-fourth of the bar left ... the second half of the Multistate portion. It's not over yet ... and if I don't pass, maybe it never will be ;)** Still, I can't help but feel a little relief that even in the midst of the most sorrow-inducing academic event of my life, I was able to detach myself, look back at everything unfortunate that's happened over the past few months - the craziness, the anger, the frustration, and the hopelessness - and laugh.

And if I don't pass***, that may be one heck of a consolation prize.

* Latin meaning "The Thing Speaks for Itself." A little legal joke ... very little ... so little that ... oops, there it goes ...

** Knock on wood ... knock on wood ... find me a piece of wood, dang it!

*** More wood ... MORE WOOD!

An Avian Nightmare ...

2009-07-08T09:30:00.001-07:00

I woke up last night in a cold sweat (literally ... cold ... sweat). * For the first time in a score of years, I had a fully cognizant, heart-wrenching, scream-until-your-voice-gives-out Nightmare. Like most things in my life, though, it was far from typical and, hence, I thought I'd share the highlights.

Apparently sick of the insanity that bar review brings, I must have decided it was time for a vacation because in this dream I found myself in Australia. That's right, Australia. Walking around what I can only assume was the "Outback," I came across a cute, cuddly Kookaburra.

It sang lovely little songs, danced lovely little dances, and in all other ways exuded lovely little cuteness (and fluffiness and all that is good in this world).

Things remained rather pleasant for a few more minutes as I moved on to examine some of the other animals that call Australia home (and to eat something the may have been grilled Toad). When I turned back to look for the Kookaburra, though, I discovered that it had been transformed into a sixteen-foot tall Cassowary.

Excuse me ... a really pissed off sixteen-foot tall Cassowary.

With the presence of mind that only dreams can bring, I knew - immediately - that the Cassowary wanted only one thing: To pound my head repeatedly with that large, sharp beak from Hell. Having a fairly keen survival instinct, I did the best thing I could: I fled like a cubbed-out Swede being chased by Finnish bullies. In the end, though, the Cassowary caught up. And it did not end well. My head became the nail to it's hammer beak.

If only I had had a table.

Of course, it's hard to tell what the inspiration behind this dream was (or any dream for that matter). I can only speculate - and mind you, it is pure speculation - that the dream was a devilish combination of "Up":

And Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds":

Not sure. Still, it made for one heck of a memorable morning.

* This is a lie: Actually, there was no sweat involved, cold or otherwise.

(Nearly) Universal Appeal ...

2009-07-02T22:53:00.000-07:00

Waltzing into Barnes and Noble a few months back, I happened across this:

Truly, one of the oddest literary concepts I've seen in recent years. After guffawing heartily at the gruesomely appropriate cover art, I nearly squealed with devilish glee after reading a few of the books passages.

Here is the beginning of the plot summary found on Wikipedia:

["Pride and Prejudice and Zombies"] follows the plot of Pride and Prejudice, but places the novel in an alternative universe version of 19th century England where zombies roam the countryside. The undead are generally viewed as a troublesome nuisance, albeit a deadly one, and their presence often affects the plot of the story in subtle ways — messages between houses are sometimes lost when the couriers are captured and eaten; characters openly discuss and judge the zombie-fighting abilities of others; women weigh the pros and cons of carrying a musket (it provides safety, but is considered "unladylike").

Elizabeth Bennet and her four sisters live on a countryside estate with their parents. Mr. Bennet trains his daughters in martial arts and weapons, molding them into a fearsome zombie-fighting army. On the other hand, Mrs. Bennet plans to marry the girls off to wealthy suitors.

If the novel lives up to even half of the tremendous potential inherent in the title (and concept), then this may be a book to unite the genders, bring us all together in a euphoric, Utopian literary world. After all, what man or woman could turn down a tale filled with (1) unflinchingly true romance AND (2) hordes of the undead.

I may cry.

Update 1: I just purchased a copy of PPZ on Amazon. Through the virtue of Amazon Prime I'll have it in two days. I tingle with anticipation.

Update 2: A old friend of mine (with whom I have recently reopened correspondence after years of silence and neglect ... and whose Facebook profile re-sparked my interest in PPZ) alerted me to another fascinating exercise in Austen-esque imagination. The series, "Lost in Austen," gives us a rather witty, surreal glimpse at one young woman (Amanda Price) whose Austen obsession opens a door to the world of Pride and Prejudice.

Favorite quote (thus far): "How lovely to have the society of ladies who are not promiscuous with speech."

Bar Break

2009-06-11T12:19:00.001-07:00

Covering dozens of topics, asking hundreds of questions, forcing intense review of books upon books of legal rules, and requiring the testing endurance of a Nobel prize winning economist, the bar is the single most daunting academic experience of my life thus far (makes the first year of law school seem like a stroll down cherry tree lane on a warm day in June).

Most of my days are spent crouched over a review book, taking practice tests, or watching any of the dozens of (inane?) lectures covering every legal topic imaginable in order to prepare for that "special day." Nine times out of ten, I probably look (and feel) like this:

But sometimes, there are reasons to laugh.

Where else, other than bar review, would I find questions focusing on the religious rights of "The Lucifers," a Druidic religious group that likes to hold bonfires on mountains to expunge the sins of the world? Or where would I find cities passing statutes to keep their streets from turning into "strip mall jungles illuminated by neon signs from Hell"? And where would I find such fun, diverse, and interesting names as Dryden, Knepper, Yancy, Wapner, Pru, Prell, and Snoop "Piggy" Pigpen (the lead singer for the Deadheads, a popular Santa Cruz rock band)?

So I guess despite all the ick, uck, eck, and arrrggghhh that is bar review, sometimes you just have to take a moment, grab a cold root beer, and enjoy the ride.

Update 1: Funniest. Question. Ever.

Question: A woman with a bladder control problem lived in State X and was angry about the state legislature's rejection of a proposed "Women's Restroom Equity Bill." The legislation would have required all new public buildings to maintain a two-to-one ratio of women's bathroom stalls to men's stalls and urinals. the woman believed this legislation was vital to eliminate longer lines that often form at women's bathrooms. To express her frustration and to attract attention to the issue, she went down to the state capitol building one afternoon, armed with a toilet plunger and a roll of toilet tissue. She held the plunger and roll, as she delivered an angry speech on the capitol building's front steps. "Members of the legislature, shame on you! Judgment day is here for you, and you are doomed! I will strike you down with my mighty plunger, and I will bind you with toilet paper until you can no longer breathe! Legions of warriors for 'potty parity' are ready to do whatever it takes to pass the Women's Restroom Equity Bill! We will put firecrackers in every toilet in this building, until they all overflow and a mighty wave sweeps every legislator out of this building and drowns them!" If the woman is prosecuted for violation of a state statute which prohibits "the making of any threat to the life or safety of a public official in any way related to that official's public duties," what will be the likely outcome of the prosecution?

Answer: The judge will chortle, chuckle and guffaw for a few minutes ... and then throw the case out.

The Art of Website Biography ...

2009-06-09T10:36:00.000-07:00

While perusing an Immigration Law Firm Website, I came across a true gem of legal auto-biography. Seriously, if I had the cojones to put something like this online (for all my clients to see), I would consider myself a real man. The first paragraph of the biography is reproduced below (remember ... this is the biography people read when deciding whether to retain his services):

"Jerry Z. Zhang was born in Nanjing, P.R. China in 1957 and grew up in a small town called Hua Nan in the Heilongjiang Province. Jerry was a mischievous and naughty teenager during his early years of middle school and high school. Although Jerry did not steal with the other hooligans, he always fought with his fists as well as his teeth; showing a great promise for being a lawyer in the future.

And if that wasn't awesome enough, check out his 1970s-era-Chinese-farmer caricature. Jerry, my hat goes off to you.

And someday, my friends, someday, I will be half that cool.

A Billboard in Action

2009-06-04T16:01:00.000-07:00

"If it's life or death, call 911 ... if it's not, don't." - Utah Billboard

Dispatcher: Police operator 3332, what is your emergency?

Caller: Hello? (static) Hello? Are you there?

Dispatcher: Yes, ma'am, I'm here. What is the nature of your emergency?

Caller: I'm ... I'm trapped. We're stuck inside of a small tunnel.

Dispatcher: Ok, stay calm. Now ma'am, I must ask you a very important question. Please, answer as best you can: Is this a life or death situation?

Caller: What? ... What?!

Dispatcher: I mean, as far as you can tell, is this the type of situation where somebody could end up dead?

Caller: What are you talking about? I'M TRAPPED IN A TUNNEL! We can't get out of here!

Dispatcher: Well, yes, I know. But ... do you have enough air? Is there a source of water around you? Could you survive for a while in there if you had to?

Caller: Are you insane? What part of trapped in a tunnel are you missing here?! My daughter and I are stuck ... trapped ... we can't get out!

Dispatcher: I wouldn't even bring it up at all, ma'am, but you see ... due to the recent financial crisis, we've had to cut back on our emergency support staff and what not and, well, if this isn't life or death, you have to call another number. So you see, I just have to make sure this is really a life or death situation ... and I'm just not sure being trapped automatically qualifies.

Caller: What the hell is wrong with you? Yes, this bloody well is a life or death situation ... GET US SOME HELP!

Dispatcher: Ok ... if you say so, ma'am. I'll transmit this call to Search and Rescue. Please remain on the line.

The Songs that Speak to Us ...

2009-06-02T15:16:00.000-07:00

"Music has the power to cause emotions to well up within us. ... These feelings color our moods [and] affect our perceptions ... Music has the ability to tap the still, mysterious deep well of our emotions."

We live, and we love. We live, and we laugh. We live, and we sing. And ain't it just amazing? No matter the difference in creed, color, culture, or continent, we are all drawn to music. It's powerful, it's emotional, it's rather a lot like an addiction ... and we can't help but keep coming back for more.

I can't even begin to list (much less analyze) all the songs that have come, for one reason or another, to represent pieces of me and my life (some good ... and some not so much).

Of course, most of them are tied to love ... often the lack (or unrequited nature) thereof. And it makes sense, if you think about it. After all, love is one of the most powerful emotions out there. It controls our moods, our schedules, and even our eating habits (just try eating when you're pining away for that perfect someone ... tough going at best). Combine that with the fact that there are approximately 3.6 dekillion (10 to the power of 30) love songs out there and you're bound to find at least one that speaks to your heart (or the hole where it should be).

Even the toughest among us are prone to the love song jitters. Case in point: Have you ever seen Tommy Boy? Remember the scene where Chris Farley and David Spade are driving along and the radio begins playing "Superstar" by the Carpenters? Both Farley and Spade feign non-interest ... then we cut to the a scene where they are both singing at the top of their lungs weeping like fat Swedish school boys who've just lost their chocolate bars (I know, a Tommy Boy reference? Still, I think it proves the point).

Because of our different experiences, there are songs that speak to us more than others. There are those (often in the unrequited love category) who seem fairly drawn to stalker songs. For instance, I once knew a girl who, after realizing that the boy she loved wouldn't return the favor, clung like a life raft to the lyrics from Dido's "White Flag":

"I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be."

As far as I can tell, that's not typically the kind of song you'd want in your "it speaks to me" repertoire ... but sometimes, that's just the way we feel and there ain't nothing that's gonna change it. In truth, though, there are lots of songs like that ... one's we connect with but feel ashamed about.

Recently, the songs that have been speaking to me fit into that category. The "I'd rather not have those lyrics EVER describe any part of my life" category. (And they're all by Death Cab for Cutie). The music, per usual, is lovely ... but it's the lyrics that really seem to be making sense to me. See, these songs seem to reflect a rather sizable problem on my part in the realm of love ... and I'm only just realizing the full extent of that problem.

Even though I won't be going into why I've connected with these songs, I thought I'd finish this post off with the pertinent lyrics from two of them. So, without further ado, here they are ... for your viewing (and psychoanalytical) pleasure:

"I was Once a Loyal Lover"

I was once a loyal lover
Whose lips did never seek anothers
But now each love's more like a match
A blinding spark that burns out fast

And they all conclude with the same sentence:
"I've never met someone more self-centered
Who thinks that life with a nice girl's like
Waiting for a bus to work"

And you can't even begin to know
How many times I've told myself 'I told you so'

"A Diamond and a Tether"

Pity, take pity on me
Because I'm not the man that I should be
I'm always turning to run
From the people I should not be afraid of

And darling, you should know
That I have fantasies about being alone
It's like love is a lesson
That I can't learn
So I make the same mistakes at each familiar turn

I know you can't hold out forever
Waiting on a diamond and a tether
From a boy who won't swim
But who will dip his toe in
Just to keep you here with him

I've got this habit I abhor
When we go out, I'm always watching the door
As if there's someone I'm going to see
Who could out-do the things that you do to me

I know you can't hold out forever
Waiting on a diamond and a tether
From a boy who won't jump
When he falls in love
He just stands with his toes on the edge
And he waits for it to disappear again.

A brief rant ...

2009-05-15T13:59:00.000-07:00

Sometimes people just need to get away ... a hike, a run, a drive up the canyon. Something. Anything. Well, last night was one of those times for me. And so, at a quarter to midnight (local time) I grabbed my camel pack, threw on my hiking shoes and headed up Y mountain trying to get to this particularly picturesque, solitary spot in Slide Canyon I have been known to visit from time to time(for those who have yet to experience the joy of Utah Valley hiking, Slide Canyon is located just south of the Y).

I'll admit it ... I was angry. I felt misused, somewhat betrayed, and woefully misunderstood. And no, I won't go into the details, though, as you might have expected, they involve a representative of the somewhat misnamed "tenderer sex." Suffice it to say, the hike was just what I needed ... a moderately hard, uphill climb to solitude where I could listen to music and tune out. But as my iPod flicked through a particularly enjoyable playlist, a song by Ben Folds popped on that, believe it or not, actually seemed to sum the situation up (I know ... who wants ANY part of their life captured in a Ben Fold's song?). I listened to it three times. And while not entirely on point, the song did seem to capture a lot of my thoughts:

You Don't Know Me At All

"I wanna ask you - Do you ever sit and wonder,
It's so strange that we could be together for
So long, and never know, never care
What goes on in the other one's head?

Things I've felt but I've never said
You said things that I never said
So I'll say something that I should have said long ago:

You don't know me at all

If I'm the person that you think I am,
Clueless chump you seem to think I am,
So easily led astray,
An errant dog who occasionally escapes and needs a shorter leash,
then why the #%^@ would you want me back?!

Maybe it's because ... You don't know me at all."

Last night, I didn't get what happened. In reality, I still don't ... but I'm not about to waste any more time on the matter. A man can only do what he thinks is right; what others think about what he does is entirely beyond his control (and should be beyond his concern).

So say we all.

Well, thanks for reading. It does feel good to get that out there, though it is kind of funny that my first blog post in three months turns out to be nothing more than an elusive (though brief) rant about an obscure moment in my life largely too personal for anyone else to relate to. Funny.

A Little More Song and Dance Please ...

2009-02-23T15:48:00.000-08:00

If you follow the Oscars (and there aren't as many as there used to be ... though things are looking up) then you know that this year was dominated by two things:

(1) Slumdog Millionaire; and
(2) Hugh Jackman.

Slumdog took home a bevy of statues including (1) Best Picture, (2) Best Director, (3) Best Original Song, (4) Best Original Score, (5) Best Film Editing, (6) Best Sound Mixing (7) Best Cinematography, and (8) Best Adapted Screenplay. And not a single acting prize among the lot! (though things are looking good for Dev Patel and Freida Pinto). You want remarkable? That is remarkable. And it just goes to show how far a movie of unknowns can go when you've got a good story (Salmon Rushdie can go eat his own head) and a lot of heart (I mean, did you see Danny Boyle's Tigger Dance as he accepted the Best Director award? Or his constantly grinning face? If he's as infectiously fun in real life as he was on the Oscars last night, I would work for that man in a heartbeat ... as the coffee guy ... or the trash guy ... or the guy who gets the coffee for the trash guy ;)

All I can say is Bravo, Slumdog. Bravo.

But the real news of the night was the return of Entertainment to entertainment's (traditionally) least entertaining awards ceremony (though the Grammy's are right up there). And that is all thanks to one man:

No longer just Wolverine ... no longer just the Boy from Oz ... no longer just the Sexiest Man Alive ... Jackman has rightfully jumped his way to best Oscar host of the decade (Sorry Billy ... I love you too). As one commentator summed up the night's festivities:

Rather than the typical routine of stand-up comedian type monologues, Jackman did a sort-of song and dance that not only drew in the audience, but really entertained like no host has done before.

Get that ... he entertained. Makes sense, right? I mean, why wouldn't a show honoring entertainment's most palpable medium (the silver screen's been the entertainment vehicle of choice since the mid-1920s) actually try to be entertaining?

Time and again (and as long as I've cared about the academy which, admittedly, isn't that long), the Oscars have turned helplessly to would be comedians and ended up with flop after flop. I mean, I love to laugh (and comedy is good for the soul), but do we really need to see Jon Stewart mocking Hollywood off of the Daily Show? No, my friends. No.

Jackman was just what this recession-weary nation needed. A good, old-fashioned, entertainment extravaganza so darn happy that, at one point, it made my roommate John jump up and start dancing.

And Jackman's good-time show stoppers were capped off with wonderful segments by Ben Stiller (doing a lovely send up of our friend Joaquin), Seth Rogen and James Franco, and Steve Martin and Tina Fey.

Now it wasn't all smiles and laughs. Parts were downright boring or nauseatingly self-righteous (Sean Penn ... Bill Maher ... Dustin Lance Black). But though not perfect, the Oscars were quite an entertaining telecast. So, if you missed the live version (shame on you ...) or you just want to see the good parts again (and again and again and again ...), check out Jackman's fantastic numbers here and here.

Hopefully, with a little luck, this is the sign of things to come.

Aiming High

2009-02-01T11:22:00.000-08:00

"The world makes way for the man who knows where he is going." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

I want to be that man. I've been working toward a few new goals this year (and some modified old ones) and the past month has been excellent ... but to date I have not written anything down. And we all know that a goal not written down is just a wish (the non-destiny driven equivalent of fortune cookies and palm readers). So, here goes - some of my goals for the next year (more may appear as I discover them):

(1) Run Four Half-Marathons: Last year I ran my first (the SLC Half-Marathon) and absolutely loved it (for four weeks leading to the race I ran over 13 miles each Saturday ... a glorious time to be alive). This year, the first two are already on deck (Provo and SLC in April). And while the others remain to be chosen, they will be run.

(2) Stay awake in All Church Meetings: I have been, up to this point, one of the most horrendous church sleepers imaginable. It's certainly offensive to those around me and to the speaker (or teacher) ... but more importantly it's offensive to God. And so, it will stop.

(3) Go to Institute Every Week: I've had trouble making institute attendance a regular occurrence during law school. This semester I'm at 100% ... and I plan to keep it that way.

(4) Find Love: Note, this is not a goal to be married (how ridiculous would that be). It's a goal to look outside myself and find someone that I can really, truly love (romantic or otherwise). For too long I've lived the good life ... the life of the people of the Brother of Jared who tarried for four years at an oceanside paradise because why would anyone want to built barges or cross an ocean when things are going so good? But I know I need to look beyond that. I need to look beyond the "Me, myself, and I" world that so many young singles inhabit. And a large part of getting beyond that world is opening my heart to love ... and to serve that person/people. It means refusing to play the game (you know, the one for control of a relationship) and giving myself without requirement. It may hurt ... it may make me feel downright depressed ... but I do believe it's never a mistake to love. Never.

Well, that's it for the moment. Updates will be posted as they come to me (after all, why wait for New Year's to make a resolution). Good luck to you all in 2009 - may this be the best year for all of us.

UPDATE: (5) Share My Testimony More Often: Not just in church. Not just while home teaching. My dad can share the reason for the hope that is in him at the drop of a hat (and frequently does ... sometimes at odd times ;) I want to be like that.
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UPDATE: (6) Create (and stick to) a Budget: Sooner or later, I have to come to grips with the fact that, while I'm not exactly a spendthrift, money does seem to fly out of my account in swift (and unusual) ways. I need to create a monthly budget that will give me the financial firmness to resist the temptation to blow $30 on Neil Gaiman books because, well, why not. February will be my test month ... I go all out in March.

Civil War at the Y

2009-01-11T16:13:00.001-08:00

About three times a week as I arrive at the law school, I pick up a copy of the Daily Universe (DU). I read it not for its deep insight or journalistic & linguistic achievements; no, I read it mostly for the letters to the editor. These letters are almost always argumentative, flawed, brash, inane and ... hilarious. But other than a good laugh, the opinion section (and the paper) typically serves little purpose.

Earlier this week, though, the DU printed an article titled "Textbook return policy puts 'tax on honesty'" prompting a controversy that, at least to me, deserves special attention.

The article dealt with a three-year-old BYU Bookstore policy. The policy says the bookstore will refuse to refund students who attempt to return a book that has been replaced by a book from another source (internet, friend, etc.). The policy is unique among Utah colleges largely because, lacking an honor code or the moral guilt that goes with it, those colleges simply have no way to enforce such a policy.

At BYU, though, guilt keeps the students, by and large, in compliance and, consequently, a subtle rift has arisen between poor students (who feel the policy is capitalism at its worst) and the bookstore (who feels the policy necessary to prevent wanton abuse of the system, allowing students to, essentially, check out books from the bookstore while they shop around for a better price).

The article, in a unique move for the DU, was pretty well balanced; both sides got in some good hits. Tom Hirtzel, head textbook guy at the bookstore, put in plenty of points and did a decent job backing the bookstore's perspective. On the other side was, among others, BYU econ. prof. Mark Showalter who, in no uncertain terms, condemned the bookstore's policy as a "tax on honesty." The editors/writers at the DU rightly clung to this phrase in their title. (I mean, it got my attention).

But other than the impartiality (in a paper renowned for its pro-BYU bias), there was nothing extraordinary about the article. And it probably would have gone the way of all issues of the DU (kindling for homeless cougars?) had the bookstore not taken its next, stunning move.

The next day, they pulled ALL of their advertising from the DU.

This was a tizzy fit of the highest order. A brash, boisterous, and blatantly bad move on the part of a Bookstore who must be riddled with self-doubt and fear that they may lose a semi-monopoly if students find out what's really going on.

As the DU pointed out in a subsequent editorial, "[p]ulling advertisements for pointing out a real, continuing subject of public dialogue is petty" - AMEN - "[t]he Bookstore's response demonstrates narrow-mindedness" - AND AMEN.

As you may know, I'm graduating soon. I've already made my last foray into the cankerous world of college textbook economics (and what a twisted, troubled world it is). But if I weren't, the Bookstore's actions would have given me all the impetus I need to NEVER BUY ANOTHER TEXTBOOK FROM THEM AGAIN (they say ALL CAPS is the written equivalent of shouting ... TRUE THAT)! I've always been upset by the Bookstore's seeming disregard for the students who keep it in business. As an arm of the University, the Bookstore should be putting us first. That they do not (and will not) is more disturbing now than ever before.

A tax on honesty? No ... what we have here is something far worse.

Genie in a Jug: A Practical Alternative to Radar?

2009-01-09T09:23:00.000-08:00

While evaluating whether a court should take judicial notice of the accuracy of radar in detecting speed in 1959, Judge Ruark of the Missouri Court of Appeals had this to say:

"Whether the radar device is an instrument applying known laws of science, or whether it is a genie in a jug, emitting evil emanations, makes no difference; the important thing is that it works."

Of course, Judge Ruark's brilliant quote begs an important social question: Why has the law enforcement community ignored the enormous potential of the "Genie in a Jug" speed-detection method? After all, troopers around the country have known about this important tool for decades (ever since Officer Van Laddaman of the Vermont State Troopers first employed the technology to pull over speeding semi-trucks in the early 1950s). Some have argued that the conscious disregard of this vital technology may simply be another form of religious intolerance in a country that professes acceptance of all creeds.

After all, we all know that "Genies" first gained prominence as part of their important role in the Islamic religious tradition. The Genie, or Jinn, is a supernatural fiery creature which possesses free will (mentioned in the Qur'an where an entire Sura is named after them (Al-Jinn)). Analysts suggest that the decision not to use Genies to enforce speeding ordinances is a clear sign that this country does not accept Islam or those who practice it.

But I think the real answer is far less troubling. Clearly, there are vital reasons NOT to use the "Genie in a Jug" method: Namely, Genie's are often PURE EVIL (as, apparently, are the ones Judge Ruark proposes using). While some are good (see Aladdin) evil genies are said to lead humans astray. In fact, in Islam, Satan, known in Arabic as Iblis, is the iconic genie that refused to bow down to Adam when ordered to by Allah.

This nation simply cannot afford to let Genies shoot their "evil emanations" at its citizens merely to enforce speeding laws accurately. Clearly, the costs (humanity's destruction based on unchecked use of evil, mystical powers leading to some sort of Armageddon) far outweigh the benefits (more fines for speeding).

I say the time has come to put the "Genie in a Jug" argument to rest. After all, radar works ... and I for one will sleep better knowing a disgruntled trooper won't be able to use his speed-detection device to enslave the general populace.

Barestaugmo ...

2009-01-08T13:21:00.000-08:00

While texting a friend, the predictive function on my phone pulled up this wonder of a word as the MOST PROBABLE entry. Now, granted, I probably missed a letter (or added one in), but it was hard for me to understand how something like "Barestaugmo" could even be an option (extra letter or not)?

As I thought about it though (and yes, this does reveal a rather Everest-ian level of boredom), I realized that mayhaps this is just my phone's subtle way of encouraging me to break out of society's linguistic sinkhole and really stick it to the man with words that inspire both confusion AND admiration (I mean, people who can come up with words that imaginative should be leading this country ... or at least the BCS).

And what's more, I realized that making up words has a long and glorious tradition. After all, where would the world be if Lewis "the Dodgson" Carroll or ol' Bill hadn't jumped the verbal mores of their day? We certainly wouldn't have words like "chortled" and "galumphing" or "dexterously" and "assassination" (though, of course, in Shakespeare's case he may not have invented the words so much as been the first one to write them down ... still, give the man props).

So in honor of Carroll, Shakespeare and ... my phone, I propose the following words to both gladden the heart and spicen the tongue (most words provided by my phone's predictive text function):

Barestaugmo: Formal name for a class of psychological conditions tied largely to television viewing. Includes, among others, Festaction (an unexplainable need to spend hours watching various reality television shows, esp. The Hills) and Nubbitasteesm (a belief that one is wittier and has a larger vocabulary than one actually does, typically arising after multiple hours of watching Gilmore Girls or Buffy the Vampire Slayer).

Tuckervine: A type of dance originating in the hinterlands of Canada. Performed while wearing up to six layers of thick animal fur, the finer movements of this dance are often indistinguishable from standing. However, practitioners frequently claim that if observers could see their legs, they would be utterly astounded.

Nurtuaj (silent 'j"): A type of creature resembling a large squirrel the makes its home predominately among a library's bookshelves. While sometimes resembling young undergrads with weeks of facial hair growth, these easily-frightened creatures are fond of both peanut butter and soothing music. They are frequently observed towards the end of scholastic semesters.

Life is a Musical ...

2009-01-05T16:19:00.000-08:00

A dear friend of mine asked me via text (and rather randomly) "when you think of the most loved musicals of all time, which names come to mind?" Jolly good question, wot. I mean, are there certain shows that, by their cheery goodness and musical prowess, immediately rise above the dross in all their melody-driven glory?

Well, taking a rather broad definition of the term musical (including shows originally created for film as well as those written for the stage), here are the first five that jumped to mind when I thought about the phrase "Most Loved Musicals of All Time":

(1) The Sound of Music: After all, the hills are alive with it - the very foundations of Nazi Germany quake at the mention of it. Anything Julie Andrews touched was pure gold (and a reason her shows make two of the top five - see below). Funny, family-friendly and filled with some of the most catchy, nay, infectious tunes of all time, this Rogers and Hammerstein standby remains classic for good reason.

(2) Fiddler on the Roof: I took a class from Michael Ballam as an undergrad all about the power of music (and its history). We spent a lot of time talking about musicals. One day he told us the story of Fiddler. Apparently, when the show was set to open the writers, director and producer were all on pins and needles because they didn't think anyone could like a show about Russian Jews. They suffered through opening night steeling themselves for boos while hoping for cheers. What they got, however, was silence. No one moved. No one clapped. No one did anything for a long while. Then, slowly, the audience began to disperse. The next day, feeling certain that the show was a complete disaster, they came to the theater and saw a line of people longer than they could imagine. The show went on for a (then) record-setting total of 3,242 performances. All I can add is my own "Bravo."

(3) Les Miserables: Who'ld a thought that unadulterated tragedy could turn into one of the most amazing musical productions ever seen? Of course, I gotta give props to Victor Hugo and his source material (perhaps the most amazing novel every written), but an equally well-deserved cheer goes out to Claude-Michel Schönberg and Alain Boublil whose genius transcends blog description. Good on ya, Frenchies.

(4) Mary Poppins: Can you possibly not love this show? I mean, really ... try. It's not possible. We've got singing bankers, dancing penguins, semi-neurotic nannies, and Dick Van Dyke ... who could ask for anything more? And with SNL's lovely send up to supercalifragilisticexpealidocious ("a disease of the liver ... "), this one must be at the top of any musical-junkies list.

(5) White Christmas: It may be the season ... it may be the snow, but whatever the reason, this one does float to the top. After all, how can you beat that Danny Kaye/Bing Crosby dynamite.

(6) My Fair Lady: Most beloved of all time or not, I had to throw this one in because it's my personal favorite. Why, you ask? For the complexity of the plot, the lovely tunes, the undiluted chauvinism of Prof. Henry Higgins and ... for the following lyrics:

"Women are irrational, that's all there is to that. Their heads are full of cotton, hay, and rags. They're nothing but exasperating, irritating, agitating, calculating, vacillating, maddening and infuriating hags."

Well, that about does it for me. For those two or three of you who may read this, feel free to add to the list. I'd be interested in what pops into your head.

Economic Rec-depr-ession ... or Surviving in the Lean Times

2008-12-15T09:34:00.000-08:00

It's depressed the dollar, yanked the yen, and pounded the pound and now it's coming after you and your once-impenetrable piggy bank. It's the looming shadow - the wolf in the darkness who breaks into your home, eats your instant noodle soup and spends hours on your couch racking up the pay-per-view bills (and ordering infomercial-based fitness programs and blenders). Of course, I'm talking about the Recession ... or the Neo-Depression ... or ... well, let's just call it the #$!%^&-ession.

Now, you may be behind TARP ... or you may think the bailout is the worst trick since Edward Bernays’s 1929 campaign to recruit women smokers (Bernay's campaign successfully tied smoking to the women's liberation movement and gave us little white "torches of liberty." He's probably more responsible than anyone else for the last eighty years of smoking-related disease and death among women).

Either way, it really doesn't matter. I mean, we can chitter, chatter, and complain all we want about the crisis and the government's (ill?) response to it ... but that's not gonna keep the wolf from shoving his money-sucking snout into your wallet (not sure how I feel about this metaphor anymore ... oh well). When it comes down to it, we can be "mad as hell" and "not gonna take it anymore," but how will that help you keep your home (or buy lunch for that matter)? Righteous indignation just ain't gonna pay them bills.

Truth is, we've got some tragically tough times ahead. And while I still feel optimistic - after all, no one ever starved with a law degree as long as they were willing to order takeout - I realize it's high time I started cutting back. I mean, that hedonistic, devil-may-care approach to finance that most of my generation has known since birth has finally broken down ... and hallelujah, it's just in time.

I mean, we all want to blame Wall Street and those fat-cat execs who have been livin' life high on the investor's dime ... but let's get a few of those fingers pointed in the right direction. After all, an absence of liquidity in the markets wouldn't really hurt most of us if we were already out of debt and putting our surplus in safe, time-tested investments. And even a deep drop in the stock market wouldn't mean as much if we protected our principal and left high-stake risk to the crew from Ocean's 11.

This crisis seems the perfect storm ... it's destructive, it's dangerous and it's likely to destroy small fishing vessels who care more for profit that personal safety; but those folks who built a shelter and have hunkered down to weather the mess have nothing to worry about. Fail or fortune, we've only ourselves to blame.

So suck in that belt, kick off those extravagances and follow these basic principles to get and keep yourself in the black (lovingly ripped off from The Richest Man in Babylon):

(1) Fatten Your Wallet: Take one-tenth of EVERYTHING you bring in and save it for the future. Pay it like clockwork ... like tithing ... like your financial success depended on it. (It does). Don't let a paycheck pass without retracting your tenth.

(2) Control Your Expenditures: Don’t buy frivolous things. Avoid the "it's on sale mentality." Frugality and fortune go hand in hand.

(3) Multiply Your Money: Once you've built up some savings, invest it wisely, safely and with a clear eye to the future. If you start saving money, it shouldn’t just sit in a mattress. After all, a high-yield savings account can double your principal in about fifteen years.

(4) Protect Your Assets: Only invest where the principal is safe. For the most part, this would discourage stock investing. Sound crazy? Just talk to someone who lost 45% of their net worth in two months.

(5) Ensure a Future Income: Keep your eye on retirement (no matter what age you are) and make sure your family will be taken care of if you pass. Buy an affordable home ... keep your belongings in good shape.

(6) Invest in Yourself: Work hard, find opportunities, get educated. Today, a college education is one of the best investments you can make; I’m not saying that it’s a requirement to be successful, but it opens the door to greater possibilities.

Of course, there are countless more bits of advice, but in the end, the key is this: Follow the prophets, get out of debt, and use your common sense. And if nothing else, try and smile each time you stop at those gas pumps. After all, these #$!@#&-essions ain't all bad.

A Little Holiday Spirit (Part I) ...

2008-12-03T08:34:00.000-08:00

It’s been far more difficult to start off this little memoir than I thought. You see, I wanted to give a go at some homage, pay the piper and all that, but I stuck myself in a bit of trouble because homage demands “literary prowess” (whatever the hell that is). In the end, though, it finally came to me—the perfect beginning.

The ghost was bored, to begin with.

It was so simple. So clear. I had gone through a few drafts (i.e., “It was the most exciting of times, it was the dullest of times” and “Whether I shall be the hero of my own memoir or whether some other git-faced spirit will take that role remains to be seen,” and simply “Hell.” I liked that last one best, but I wasn’t sure anyone would get it), but when this popped into my head, I was done. I could add nothing more.

I mean, it’s nice—not too highhanded or over-the-top or anything like that. Pure, solid homage. After all, I gotta hand credit to the book that really put me on the map, literarily speaking, I mean. Why, if it weren’t for Monsieur Dickens (that cheeky little bastard) no one would care a two-pence or a haypenny or a hey nonny-nonny for me or the other so called “spirits” that “haunt” (can you believe this insanity? Words in quotes?! Hah!) A Christmas Carol.

Ok, I guess I better back up two shakes. First off, the name’s Edward—Edward Salberry, to be precise. I know what you’re thinking, “Who the hell is Edward Salberry?” (or, if you’re a bit higher minded and moral and all that, probably like, “Who, perchance, is Edward Salberry?”). And I can’t blame you one bit. I mean, no one knows me by that name anymore. Not since Dickens anyway. Like as not, you’d recognize me as the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. But actually, just to set the record straight, that’s more of a title. It’s like knowing a knob named Bill Accain who shovels dirt at the cemetery and thinking his name was really “the Shoveller” or “the Man who Moves Dirt For Recompense” or something like that. Nice when talking with friends about a bloke, but no good if you wanna talk with the man himself. So, by all means, call me Edward. And, like I said, I am the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come … and Hannakuh Yet to Come … and Ramadan Yet to Come … and Diwali Yet to Come … and, well, let’s just say that if it’s an up-and-coming religious holiday you want haunted, I’m your spirit.

Didn’t used to be that way, though. Back in the day it was straight up Christian holidays and nothing doin’ with those heathen jobs living in their deserts and jungles and the like. Fact was, most of those pagans were already filled to the brim with kindness and charity and Christian cheer … well, in a blood-sacrifice kind of way. Mind you, I don’t recommend the cannibalism or the “human sacrifice to please Baal,” or anything like that. I’m just saying that when they weren’t chanting and chirping and gorging on their victims, they could be pretty damn civil. And did they know how to party. Wow! This one feast in Papua New Guinea before they offered up virgin triplets probably blasted the doors off any other dinner in history. Really.

But I digress.

Fact is, we’re living in an increasingly global society with political correctness and equal opportunity kicking you in the face every time you turn around. Buddy of mine once got fined half a month’s wages for failing to properly haunt this Scientologist guy into repentance and redemption and what not. Well I just have to say, bugger that. What if I got some problem haunting the man … you know, on moral grounds or something. It just ain’t right that some union can come in and make me fork out some hard earned cash because I'm not gonna do anything "repugnant to my nature" or whatever. It's a bloody mess, if you ask me.

And who do we have to thank for all that? Why, Dickens himself. I mean, he just waltzes in with his serial novels and his "realistic" characters and … well, I'll get to all that. Guess what I need to do is tell ya more about myself. I mean, sure, Dickens will play a part, but we’ll keep him in the wings more than not. Gotta head out now ... busy time of year and all that. But don't worry. More to come. More to come.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

Emotive Twenty-Somethings ...

2008-11-24T12:35:00.000-08:00

This morning, while looking through old files on a long-forgotten flash drive, I found a poem I wrote during my senior year of college. Thinking back, it seems like I used to write a lot of silly things like this. Up 'til now I've rarely shared them with anyone ... but this one was too good to pass up. I mean, what was I thinking? How bored must I have been to even start, much less finish, something so inane? Oh, well. Nothing can keep an emotive twenty-three year old down ;)

Still, given my last entry and the upcoming fun & food-filled holiday season, this poem* may even be slightly apropo. Cheers to ya'll, and good luck keeping those upcoming New Year's Resolutions.

* WARNING: THE FOLLOWING POEM MAY CONTAIN NUDITY

“Weighed Again, Come January”

Mid-January, I stood in the shower and realized
I couldn’t see my feet without moving my head forward
(more than I care to admit).
Only with effort could I make out what lay beyond
the titan mound of all too solid flesh.

I stood stark naked as water trickled down a drain
(to be reused by others in a perverse, yet telling,
cycle of modernity), and thought how easy corpulence would
melt away
in the sweat of a rubber-padded weight room.

And so I came to the meat auction
where scores of ruddy-faced men and women
whored themselves in public spectacle. (The world of weights
revolves around breasts and biceps).
But I was not so degenerate.
Or rather, I was (am) but didn’t (don’t) have the right figure.
So, I wore baggy sweats.

An acrid smell drifted across the checkered floor
and I nearly left because I couldn’t stand to breathe in the mix of five-year old sweat and hairspray.
But looking down I saw nothing
but my Dionysian stomach and so ...

Weight machines stood in a row like a collection of
sculpted scrap metal that once may have composed the guts of a Chevy or a washing machine. The machines were foreign,
their magic made more potent by mystery
and the Alchemic ability to transform fat into figure.

I stepped to a machine as music blared inanely across the room.
“Dirty deeds done dirt cheap ... ”
And I remembered why the progression of time
is such a good idea. (Good one, God).

Others in the room moved like large, shapely specters,
seemingly unaware of the rest of the room, but secretly staring
and lusting. “Dude, throw thirty more on,”
the blue-shirted shape said;
perhaps meant to entice the girl with the butterfly tattoo.

The hour passed and gravity took its toll. I straggled home,
legs tense and arms quivering.
Even in this frozen wasteland, my body found a way to sweat. (Thanks again, God).

In the apartment, I stripped down and stepped into the shower, consumed by Promethean pain.
And as the water spilled out, I looked down and smiled weakly.

I still couldn’t see my feet.

Will Run for Food ...

2008-11-19T10:33:00.000-08:00

Those dark moments of life (death, divorce, destruction, disease, decomposition, etc.) often create just the right batch of ingredients for a rebirth. It's a bit like that whole Phoenix thing. We can't be reborn until we've been burnt to a charcoal-covered crisp.

See, midway through second semester of my first year of law school (a time of life universally recognized as a trip through physical and mental hell ... even if you enjoyed yourself most of the time) I looked down one day to discover that I had slowly devolved into a 285 pound mass of jelly-filled humanity. This was bad ... high cholesterol & blood pressure just added to what I now refer to as the MOST ABYSMAL PHYSICAL CONDITION OF MY LIFE.

After commiserating with some of my fellow chubbed-out first years, I decided to begin an activity that would significantly change my life: Running. Throughout my high school and undergrad years, I had avoided this most polarizing of activities like it was the smelly guy in science class. See, I related with the Morgan High Cross-Country club motto: "What most call hell, we call home." I was firmly on the "hell" side of that dichotomy.

Nevertheless, I disregarded my prior bias and began on a program aimed to get me from couch potato to half-Kenyan marathoner in sixteen weeks. Those first several weeks of running, I felt (and probably looked) like this:

But despite the back aches, the leg aches, the head aches, and the generally feeling that if I went one more step I would probably keel over along the side of the road, I kept going. And things got better. My lung capacity deepened and my legs, back, and stomach began to support my considerable girth. The highlight of that time of my running life came three months later when I set out on an idle Friday night and ran for an entire hour without stopping. I felt invincible; I felt like superman; I felt like this guy:

Even though I FELT good, however, I didn't actually look much different. Sure, I lost a few pounds (down to 250 at first and later down to 240 when I started training for a half-marathon), but my body still looked like an M&M - a lot of good stuff covered in a thick candy shell. It was only then that I began to realize the other half of my problem: Food.

Most of the seven deadly sins are relatively under control for me. Anger? Not since I beat up that kid in fourth grade (topically enough, for calling me fat) or punched a whole through our living room window screen have I let that emotion really take control. Envy? Well, I do live with Eric Vogeler, so ... yeah. And Lust? Well, I think Henry Higgins put it best when he asked "Have you ever met a man of good moral character where women are concerned?" (OK, after reading what I just wrote, I realize I might need to work on those as well). But the worst of all the game, by far, has always been Gluttony. We're a nation whose main passtime is overeating ... and I've always been proud to be an American.

But the problem with my greedy need for food is that it counteracts the majority of good that can come from a solid and consistent running program. I could run 25 miles a week and, thanks to my habit of mercilessly choking down Twinkies, end up two pounds heavier than I was the week before (this has happened ... how sad is that?).

So I'm going to cut down. Seriously ... this time it's going to happen. This life is all about learning to control our finicky, fickle bodies, no? Let that be my goal. My heart is healthy, my legs are strong and, while a flat and chiseled belly may be too much to ask for, hopefully cutting out the junk will help me move closer to that optimum 220.

A Lot Like Love ...

2008-11-10T10:04:00.000-08:00

"We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."

I found that statement while looking through quotes some of my friends have up on Facebook (the most socially acceptable way to stalk ...). The quote reminds me a bit of a comic strip by Bill Watterson (a genius of the highest order, comic or otherwise). In one segment written several years ago, Calvin is walking along a path with Hobbes while the pair, as they are want to do, have a VERY illuminating conversation:

Calvin: What's it like to fall in love?
Hobbes: Well... say the object of your affection walks by...
Calvin: Yeah?
Hobbes: First, your heart falls into your stomach and splashes your innards. All the moisture makes you sweat profusely. This condensation shorts the circuits to your brain and you get all woozy. When your brain burns out altogether, your mouth disengages and you babble like a cretin until she leaves.
Calvin: THAT'S LOVE?!?
Hobbes: Medically speaking.
Calvin: Heck, that happened to me once, but I figured it was cooties!

It may not be Valentine's Day or Christmas or really any day that might spark the heart or quicken the pulse ... but it is raining outside. And, on a rainy day, a little love can go a long way.

Cheers to ya'll ... and much love.

"America will never forget ... "

2008-07-09T20:55:00.000-07:00

Today, while reading through the so-called "Great Speeches" of the last one hundred years, I came across one delivered by current President George W. Bush to Congress nine days after the terrorist-driven destruction of 9/11. Among many other poignant and well-crafted lines (two points to his speech writer for coming up with "whether we bring our enemies to justice or justice to our enemies, justice will be done") was the following promise and observation.

And on behalf of the American people, I thank the world for its outpouring of support.

America will never forget the sounds of our national anthem playing at Buckingham Palace, on the streets of Paris and at Berlin's Brandenburg Gate.

We will not forget South Korean children gathering to pray outside our embassy in Seoul, or the prayers of sympathy offered at a mosque in Cairo.

We will not forget moments of silence and days of mourning in Australia and Africa and Latin America.

Nor will we forget the citizens of 80 other nations who died with our own. Dozens of Pakistanis, more than 130 Israelis, more than 250 citizens of India, men and women from El Salvador, Iran, Mexico and Japan, and hundreds of British citizens.

America has no truer friend than Great Britain.

Now, I don't want to end up sounding like some melodramatic country song, but with the lowest global approval rating since ... well, ever ... I can't help but think that we have forgotten those sentiments. And we've lost (or are losing) many of our friends as a result.

Why, for instance, did we decide to twiddle away our previous political prowess and relatively unsullied foreign image (remember when EVERYONE wanted to be us ... except France ... and they did too, secretly, from a distance) for a turgid, dumb war in Iraq?

And why have we decided to take the lone wolf, devil may care approach to foreign policy that ends up alienating the new Russia, the new China and the old everyone else? (Granted, we are doing better with some countries, such as India, but we've dropped significantly in the eyes of many, many others).

Before going on, I must point out that yes, I am several years late and a few well-thought-out phrases short of having a really meaningful entry here. (In my own defense, though, I must say that's largely because I was out of the country during 9/11 and the ensuing two years of US foreign relations rebound while I was serving an LDS mission in Southeast Asia leading, as you might expect, to a very different perspective on this whole thing). Obviously, disregarding the downward glances of our foreign friends isn't a new trend or a hot issue - it's been going on for years. For whatever reason though (call it fate, call it destiny, call it being at work with absolutely nothing else to do), my personal apathy toward the whole mess has finally begun to fade away and I've started wondering how to get our country back to where we were eight years ago - at least as far as foreign relations are concerned.

I don't think I'm being naive (idealistic, maybe, but not naive). I'm aware that we've always had a way of grating foreign cultures and countries with our brash, uncouth ways. I mean, we've always sort of done it our own way - but at least we used to have the diplomatic sense to keep more doors open and more friendships alive. And at least we used to try and make sure that when we went into some country, we went in with a wink and a nod from our friends across the pond and around the world (as opposed to the curse and jeer that seem more the preferred greeting today).

In that speech Bush gave nearly seven years ago, he paid homage to the right idea and the right approach to foreign policy: America cannot forget the good the world has done for her. America cannot choose to go it alone anymore (and whoever the next president is, he's got to clue in on that concept pretty darn quick). Sure, we'll continue to have our difference and we can't always just "play nice" with the schoolhouse bully, but if we don't make friends with the other countries on this large global playground, we'll be little more than a bully ourselves.

I may not be the most insightful chap this side of CNN (ha ha), but I do love this country and I always pray for her continued success. God bless America (and God give her sense enough to deserve it)!

God of our fathers, known of old--
Lord of our far-flung battle line
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe--
Such boasting as the Gentiles use
Or lesser breeds without the law--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

- Rudyard Kipling

[title]

2008-07-08T00:46:00.000-07:00

I got this e-mail a few months back from a co-worker at the Utah Supreme Court. Funny man. I kept it (for the love of a good guffaw) and am only now getting around to publishing it. Enjoy.

Hello [witty moniker]:

It's that time again. I realize that you are all busy with [seasonal non-religious activity], but [pop culture reference], don't you think? Our [regularly occuring, work-related outing] is just around the corner and should be great time to share our impressions of cases, practice caricatures of our favorite jurists, and [pinky and the brain reference].

With that in mind, I say we get together for an informal brown bag lunch on Friday at noon. I realize the notice is short but remember [cite to fake statute], and we took an oath to uphold the law, right? Ha ha!

As usual, feel free to attend even if case discussion is "verboten." We won't make you talk or even eat the dessert unless you are [ambiguous, possibly inappropriate joke]. Chattham house rules apply.

I hope to see you there.

Cheers,
[clever, likely self-deprecating nickname]

Balancing the Court

2008-07-04T00:26:00.000-07:00

Finally, for all us "right-brained" lawyers out there - a bit of pictorial magic detailing the voting styles of our current Supreme Court (showing the "major" cases - as judged by the NY Times - over the past term). This pictograph begs two questions, as far as I can see:

(1) Will Kennedy ever NOT be the swing vote? I mean, really ... isn't it time for Stevens to step into the limelight a little? Just a little? (And, while we're on the topic, how 'bout Steven's bow tie? A perfect complement to Thomas's slant-lipped stare of death).

(2) Can Scalia and Ginsberg let bygones be bygones and join together on some issue of universal importance, thus rising above their political biases?

Thanks to those happy-go-lucky NY Times people from whom I lovingly stole this image.

My town ... that created all the bass sounds ...

2008-05-17T17:52:00.000-07:00

What ever happened to the sweet, sweet hip-hop that pervaded the 90s? I know, I know ... most of you are shaking your head in disbelief - as if there could be such a thing as "sweet hip-hop" - but just read on ... you'll see what I mean.

Take for instance "I Need a Hot Girl" by Hot Boyz, one particularly rousing anthem from the end of that era. Here, verbatim, are the first four lines:

'You need a hot one I got one, I take and bend
Shake it down, break it down, with me and a friend
Biggity bounce, slide, ride, work that thing to the right
Push it down, push it up, boom you dynamite' (add appropriate inflection)

And then there's "My Projects" by Coo Coo Cal:

'In my projects, my project thick
In my projects, everybody cooks bricks
In my projects, my projects thick
Don't come to my projects if you ain't wit dis clique'

Or how about the unforgettable Western/Hip-Hop crossover "Ghetto Cowboy" by Mo' Thugs from 1998:

'The names Powder P can I get a twelve gauge
Outlawed everyday on the front page
Mr. Kid, if you give me the low down
Me and Blackjack, we ready for the showdown
With two double barrels pointed at whatever
We'll stick together, I'm perdy clever'

(Perhaps the best use of the word "perdy" in any song ever. Period).

But need I quote more? For everyone in touch with their inner, sex-crazed thug, the genius of these hip-hop masterpieces is beyond reproach (My Inner-Thug Name: T. Four Piece). For the true believer, there was never a better era.

So the question is, what happened? Where are the Koopsta Knicka's, Tupac's and Krayzie Bone's of today? I know, I know ... some of those guys retired. Some overdosed on heroin. Some are serving time in maximum security prison. And some are dead urban icons rumored to be coming back in 2007, but not really actually coming back. (You know who you are).

I just don't think today's hip-hop has that same, undefinable quality ... we've seem to have moved past that time when music was able to eternally straddle the line between completely depraved and lovable 'gansta magic.' No, the hip-hop of today has definitely crossed that line. The music of today can best be described only as "Fergalicious."

Oh, well ... I guess some things will just never be the same. I'll just have to resign myself to being one of those crazy old guys who embarrasses their "hip" grandkids by rapping on the front porch with his dawg's and remembering the days when the Notorious B.I.G. reigned supreme.

Hope, Work, and the Good Life

2008-01-22T12:35:00.000-08:00

They say that the Monday of the last full week in January (MLK Day) is traditionally the most depressing day of the year because of (1) high credit card debt from the hoildays, (2) the long, cold, darkness of winter at its dreariest, and (3) most people give up their New Year's resolutions about this time.

Tragedy, my friends, unmitigated tragedy. Ok, so I'll give you that the cold, dark disgustingness of a thick January inversion isn't liable to take many people to the land of sunshine and rainbows ... but forsaking those newly-made resolutions? What gives? Twenty-two days into the rest of our lives and already the majority are packing in the gym socks, giving up on love, and pulling out those old nicotine deathsticks.

And it makes me wonder all the more ... how many people actually keep those resolutions past Dark Monday? Are there any sticklers still straddling that Thin Blue Line (random British comedy reference) and keeping their resolutions into May? August? December?

I hope so. And, what's more, I hope I'm one of them and that this time next year finds me thin and sexy, in love ("Its not too late to find a mate in 2008"), and smoke free ;) Cheers.

Non-conformist or Just Plain Lazy?

2007-10-25T08:37:00.000-07:00

"This is Halloween, everybody make a scene, trick or treat 'till the neighbors gonna die of fright." - From Nightmare Before Christmas

The question starts toward the end of September, usually after someone remarks just how quickly the year seems to be flying by.

Guy: (trying to make small talk with his lovely co-worker) "Yeah, can you believe it's almost October?"

Girl: (thinking Guy would make a great match for her roommate) "Oh, you're right. And after Halloween its just a blink of an eye to Christmas. I can hardly believe it."

Guy: "Yeah." (Awkward pause as Guy wonders if this is the opportune moment to "make his move" and then chickens out because ... well, come on, that's just the way it happens)

Guy (trying to salvage his dignity): "So what are you gonna be for Halloween?"

And it never lets up. From the moment those word are first uttered until they roll the last pudgy, sugar-soaked kid or slutty witch/nurse/pumpkin into bed (Why do typically nice, mild-mannered girls feel free to go wild and slutty on Halloween? And why don't they feel that free more of the time?), you will be barraged with this inquiry by friends, co-workers, and folk you never wanted to lay eyes on.

But after last year's failed attempt to portray a realistic-looking Hershey's chocolate bar, I decided I wasn't gonna play that game. So yesterday when one of my friends asked me what I was dressing up as for the law school Halloween party (which - find the logic here - is going down on October 25), I said, "Not a blessed thing."

So here I sit - dressed in my regular blue jeans, button-up shirt, top-siders and a "Wrist Strong" wrist band on my left wrist (Go Colbert Nation!) and I got to thinking. See, in reality we're a nation of conformists. With a few exceptions - notable only for how silly they appear as they try to fight the "system" and stick it to "the man" - we drink what we're given, work when we should, and do our best not to stand-out more than necessary to get a date on Friday night.

And Halloween is no exception. Even though we get to wear something bizarre, funny, or sexy that we wouldn't dream of wearing the rest of the live-long year, so does everybody else. It's an odd conundrum, but as they say in Pixar's most amazing movie The Incredibles, "When everyone's special, no one is."

Does that mean that the non-costume wearers are really the non-conformists come Halloween? (I mean, we're fighting the "system" by NOT being falsely unique). Or does that mean the non-wearers are just lazy?

Perhaps we'll never know; but at least we'll have candy corn. And that's something to bring every lazy Halloween hater, posing non-conformist, or excitable "princess" together.

"All We Like Raptors Have Gone Astray"

2007-10-24T09:31:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, even though you probably shouldn't, you just can't help but laugh. A lot. And the best part? The pterodactyl and volcano in the background.

Three cheers for photo shop and a hearty thanks to Mark Davis for sending this my way.

Conversations with Alice ...

2007-10-05T08:40:00.000-07:00

"Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

Actually, though, I didn't choose that road. Not yet, anyway. Frost may have jumped on the "I'm gonna be the most famous American poet in recent memory" boat, but I'm still undecided. Both roads lie ahead and I'm here, sitting at the crossroads, eating an apple (beef jerky perhaps?) and seriously trying to decide which one to take. Of course you'll say it's just gainful employment for a summer, how bad could it be? I mean, it's not like its the rest of my life.

But what if it is? A small, but supremely-wise hobbit was fond of saying that the road goes ever on and on. So it may be a little path now, but that same small road may soon join something grander and larger and longer until I find myself, years from now, somewhere down the line wondering what the !@^#& happened to take me there.

New York ... California ... Seattle ... Salt Lake City ... China ... I might as well throw darts at a spinning globe. Maybe then at least I'd have some explanation for my choice.

"So Matt, how'd you end up in Kyrgyzstan?"

"Well, it was a mix of hard deliberation, serious thought, a twelve-pack of Mr. Pibb and an oddly-thrown dart."

I've never liked that freakish Cheshire cat - metaphorically or literally (or even literarily). He always sits above, pawing around in a tree waiting to tease and tickle the imagination with those blasted words.

"Which one should I take," I ask.

"Well, that depends on where you want to go," he replies.

"But I don't know where I want to go," I say.

"Then it probably doesn't matter, does it," he finishes.

At the end of this whole process, I may not know why I picked the place I'm going to work, but I will know at least one thing - I sure do hate that cat.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog ...

2007-09-05T22:48:00.000-07:00

Short note that should help get you through a crazy and devilish week:

They may have taken Smurfs off the air, but they can never take them out of your heart.

Stand true blue, through and through ... and Smurf yourself a grin.

Recreating ...

2007-09-01T18:30:00.000-07:00

Think back to the most amazing moment(s) of your life. Picture every detail; ponder every picture; and feel. That's probably the most important part ... just feel what it was like to be there. Exult that you had that chance.

Once, I stood on the top of the Great Wall of China in the middle of a long stretch winding across impressive mountain peaks north of Beijing. As I stood there, alone, early on that June morning, wind rushed up from all four sides of the watchtower creating a vortex of sorts. All around for miles I could see little to spoil this one, true connection with nature and the accompanying sensory explosion.

Once, I sat listening to a dramatization of Dumas' poetic "The Count of Monte Cristo." As the actors, especially the one playing the formidable Dante, delved deeper into one of the most impressive studies of revenge ever imagined, I joined them - more than I had joined any performance before or since. What they did through their cantering stagecraft to create this vision, I don't know; but I was enraptured and could not help being sucked full tilt into their world.

Once, on a frosty, clear night in December, I sat in an open field with the only woman who has ever found true space in my heart (thus far), and gazed for hours at the twinkling heavens.

Eternity is built on such as this - commonplace moments possessed of unexpected and unwatched for vitality and sweetness. Little do we know their power until we are left foresaken and grasping ... trying desperately to recreate past masterpieces.

I don't know why I wrote this (and I'm the only one who reads them anyway). Perhaps I'm just looking for something I was, or something I did, or something wonderful the once happened to me and hoping (but really without much hope) that I can recreate this perfected past. But, then again, who really has time for recreating on a Saturday night?

Responsible life decisions ...

2007-08-23T12:35:00.000-07:00

Hands down, up, or in the middle of a high-five, the worst icebreaker question of all is "Where do you see yourself in ______ (insert arbitrary number) years?" Think about it. No really ... first, who really cares where you see yourself in ______ (still arbitrary) years? Even I've got a healthy apathy in that department (and I've been neck deep in conversations about judging soil and rotten milk). Second, assuming the questioner is in earnest, how in the bloody name of Agatha Christie are you supposed to know? Remember five years ago if you can - back then, did you see yourself here? Or even close? I know I didn't see myself single, chubby, or in law school (a triple threat, my friends). Five years ago I was still on the path to being a happily married medical researcher out to cure cancer and the common cold - and my mother is still weeping the change.

As far as I can tell, the whole question must have started in the seventies with the advent of networking. (And I'll bet the first guy to ask the question was some brash, starched-shirt wearing schmuck named Bob. Or, maybe, Bobette). Bob must have been one of those incredibly annoying "networkers" - the kind of guy that goes to a party to "work" a room, "make contacts," and "carouse" with "loose" women.

He must have been pretty darn stuck to let this wonder fly ... probably in the middle of a drink with Ed, that one guy who's so buggered self-serving that he even makes people like Bob look good.

"And I told her that I didn't care how many times she made out with Bono, it still couldn't be as awesome as shaking hands with the President . . . or walking on the moon."

"Ed," Bob probably asked nonchalantly as he grabbed another drink, "so, um, where exactly do you see yourself in ____ (yeah, you know) years?"

"Well, that's a good question Bob. I guess that I . . . Bob? Bob? Hey, where'd he go?"

But by then, Bob was across the room getting to know Sara, a rather excitable and friendly rock groupie. On second thought, maybe . . . no, that question still sucks rocks.

The Perfect Day

2007-06-24T20:23:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't think of making this up or sensationalizing. Everything below accurately captures how it felt to be alive on Saturday June 23, 2007.

The sun hadn't risen when I popped out of my chalet at the South Pacific Resort. An order of hashbrowns and banana waffles and I was off along the Western coast to Tekek, the hub of Pulao Tioman (also known as Bali Hai - my special island). Refreshing winds lazed across the beach as monkeys played in the palms, dropping coconuts onto the sand below (just like in the cartoons) and the walk was cool and calming.

I turned off the main road past the village Mosque and into the thickets of the island's interior. And what an interior - trees a hundred feet tall lined the slopes as the stone covered trail led deeper into the foilage. All around, birds sang and branches cracked as monitor lizards, monkeys and small deer ran from the massive orang putai (white man) trekking about. I can't say the trek was easy, exactly. By the time I got to the top of the hill (four kilometers later), sweat covered every stitch of clothing I had on. That's probably why the breeze from the ocean that met me as I crossed the ridge felt so nice. And the view stretched out resplendently - mountain ridges and valleys melting into the welcoming Juara bay below.

I checked into the secluded, beach-side Rainbow Chalets and immediately set about to some serious relaxation (oh so welcome after the six-mile hike). Lazing on a beach cot with a good book and plenty of water took up most of the late morning and into the early afternoon when I went exploring the rocky point near the resort. A lunch of pineapple fried rice, roti telur and a refreshing coconut juice gave me enough energy for the long hours of swimming in the crystal clear waters that spread out from the beach. As I reclined in the ocean waves and played with some of the local children who came for a respite from the hot sun, crabs scuttled across the rocks and fish jumped in and out of the surf.

By this time I was already exulting in this God given gift of a day. Juara was nearly deserted and the travelers that were there seemed content to work on their tans from the comfort of their own chalets, granting free reign. It was like the whole beach, nay, the whole island belonged to me and me alone. As the sun set, I walked back to my chalet, changed for the evening, and traipsed over to a nearby restaurant serving banana milkshakes and the Bushman - a local concoction beyond description.

A storm moved in while I was eating and lightening split the sky. After finishing the food, I crossed through the downpour and put on my swimsuit again - this time to go play in the rain. The tide moved out, leaving dead coral across the beach, and the falling water felt crisp, cool and wonderful. My senses crazed in the moment: the smell of rain on sand, the touch of the cool water, the sound of the ocean waves and surrounding storm, the sight of flashing lights against the darkness, and the taste of the dinner so lately eaten. The wonder of being alive.

I walked across the bay and left even the small signs of civilization that were there, coming to a stretch of beach entirely deserted. Knowing no one was around, there was only one thing I could do - I took off my swimsuit and walked naked across the beach (nothing sexual here - it just felt right). Soon after, the storm ceased and the moon and stars began to shine down. I stopped, sat in the sand, and sang softly to the sea. On my way back (clothed again) I felt filled with energy, and began running across the sand. A couple of miles dodging coral and breathing in the sea air passed quickly and as I got back to my chalet the rains fell again, washing off the sweat and refreshing my muscles.

The prayer I said that night was filled with gratitude at the wonders of the world - and for the chance I had to live another perfect day in it.

Two Men on a Bus

2007-06-21T03:12:00.000-07:00

Canadian (in a heavy Montreal accent): Hey, you know where this bus is headed?

American: Central Station.

(pause. both look at the passing scenery.)

American: You been in Malacca long?

Canadian: No, just two days. I'm going to Kuala Lumpur now and then back to Taiwan.

American: You live in Taiwan?

Canadian: For about seven years now. I live there with my girlfriend and her three kids.

American: Huh ... so what brings you here?

Canadian: I take photographs for a French Canadian travel magazine. It doesn't pay much - enough to keep me traveling. Where are you from?

American: The States. Utah originally, but I'm living in California for the summer.

Canadian: I love Utah. You've got Moab. Bryce. Arches. I used to go mountain biking in Moab. Great times.

American: What got you into all this traveling?

Canadian: Well, I ran away from home when I was 16. I couldn't stand my dad and one day I just started hitchhiking across Canada. It took me about two months. In the end, I loved it so much that I just kept going.

American: Hitchhiking, huh, how was that?

Canadian: Fantastic. A lot of people will say, "no, you can't hitchhike anymore. Maybe twenty or thirty years ago, but not now." But they are wrong. If you smile and shave and look presentable, people will pick you up. I even hitched around the Western United States for several months through California, Nevada, Arizona ... Utah. It's not dangerous at all and I love meeting new people. What are you doing here?

American: I'm doing an internship in KL at a law firm. I used to live hear about four years back and figured it was time to come again. Once Asia gets in your system, there's no way to get it out.

Canadian: You said it.

(More time goes by and the two talk about a stolen motorbike, trips to China and the future of that country's growth, photography, and religious policies in Malaysia. If you're still looking for a point ... stop. The only point is that not all Canadians end sentences with 'eh.' And that is cultural understanding.)

One Nation Under ... Dressed?

2007-06-17T22:00:00.000-07:00

Malacca lies two hours south of Kuala Lumpur on the West Coast of Malaysia. Between the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries, it became one of the most active port cities in Southeast Asia controlled by various imperial powers (most notably, the Portuguese). Blessed with an incredibly rich blend of history and culture, the Malaccan people crown this Asian treasure. It's a highlight no matter what reasons you have for coming to the country (and a great way to start a post). And now, into the heart of today's issue.

Last Saturday when I arrived at my hostel - run by a rag-tag collection of Islamic natives- the manager(who was really more like a mother than a proprietor) immediately began asking me about myself. Typical questions like "What was I doing with my life? What brought me to Malaysia? What was life like back in England?"

And that made me pause. England? Forsooth ...

"Actually, I'm from America," I said with a democratic twinkle in my eye.

"Oh, you just looked so nice and proper that I thought you must be from England. They always wear nice clothes and comb their hair and everything," she replied nonchalantly. "Americans don't usually look that nice."

And that got me thinking. I was in a nicer polo and I did have some exceptionally well-cared for hair that afternoon (for me, anyway).

Could it be true? Was I really part of a nation of shaggy citizens soiling the world with their fashion sins? And more importantly, could I bedevil the local citizens about my origins merely by combing my hair?

Amidst claims of dumbing down and fattening up, it seems logical that the next step would be for Americans to begin lowering our fashion standards and start slumming around. Even if that were the case, though, as travelers we don't exactly have a corner on the market. Honestly, have you seen English backpackers? That old-school British charm simply doesn't accompany them en route. In fact, it really doesn't matter what country they're from, backpackers just exude slumminess (and that's probably ok).

Back in the states, however, things do seem to be getting a bit sloppier. For a lot of people, dressing up just isn't at the top of the docket. Kind of sad, really. I mean, Form should never entirely be at the mercy of Function (though the Form devotees bowing to the Gucci gods are just as bad). Otherwise, sweats and baggy shorts would kick the inseams off khakis and we'd all grow a little bit flabbier for want of proper motivation. Though our language may be on the downward slope (TMWFI), our looks shouldn't be destined to follow.

Comfort and ease are nice, but respect is optimum. I started running because health and wellness are among the first steps towards gaining real self-respect. Taking care of our appearance is another. A clean shirt and a washed face are just that much easier to love.

In reality, I'm not worried that we're going to be outclassed on the hostel circuit by Brits or anyone else anytime soon. But we could all probably stand a little bit more attention to our appearance no matter where we are (in an "I care about myself" way, not an "If you think I'm sexy and you want my body" way). I don't think clothes always make the man, but they do seem to show a lot about who he is.

The Mystic Law of the Universe

2007-06-10T22:57:00.000-07:00

Everything about the highlands was peaceful ... the temperature, the people, the food - even the storms were downright friendly. The Camerons are about a five hour bus ride outside of Kuala Lumpur on the most curvy, sea-sickening road I've ever encountered (including East Malaysia - and that's saying something). Still, the views were amazing ... and how many people can say they've been naked in a rainstorm in the heart of the jungle?

But the best part came yesterday when I met Buddhist apologist extraordinaire, Mr. Jeffrey Teoh. Within 10 seconds of our chance encounter near a waterfall, I was already knee-deep in the mysteries of Life, the Universe, and Everything.

"We are all Buddhas," Jeffrey explained, "but in mortal form. We can only become eternal when we are chanting."

Curious, I asked exactly what we should be chanting (though quite adept at "Pie Jesu Domine," I'm always looking to further my repertoire). He told me. I looked befuddled. He repeated and I continued, in my own silly way, to look befuddled. He wrote it down for me.

And this, in full, is what it said - "Nam-Myo-Ho-Ren-Ge-Kyo."

"This is the essence," Jeffrey said, "it's the same as chanting all 84,000 normal sutras that the rest of the Buddhists chant. But this, this is The Mystic Law of the Universe."

I asked him what the words meant and he said something about lotus flowers and water cycles or whatever. But the key is what he said as I was getting ready to leave.

"Chant this and any problem you have, any difficulty you encounter, will be automatically corrected. The more you chant, the better your life will become."

How can that not be awesome? So there it is, my friends, the answer to your next excrutiating law school final exam is simple - chant. Chant long. Chant hard. And, you've got a moment, put in a few chants for me.